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hairstevington · 1 year ago

Text

Teleplatonic

Summary: Robin starts hearing voices in Click's class. Well, it's one voice. A dude. Some douchebag jock who Robin's unrequited love has a thing for. Could high school be any worse? (5K words)

Warnings: Not much just Steve and Robin being platonic soulmates, mention of Steddie and Stommy backstory, Click's class and Scoops Ahoy era Stobin, the coming out scene (my beloved)

A/N: Many thanks to my discord ( @strangerthingswritersguild ) who encouraged me to take my silly idea and turn it into a cute lil fluffy one shot about the power of platonic loveeeee. Ao3 link here for those interested!

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At first, Robin thought she was going crazy.

Honestly, it wouldn’t have surprised her. She was already a closeted lesbian in the eighties, so she was doomed anyway. Might as well add schizophrenia to the list.

Click’s class was a mixed bag. On one hand, Tammy Thompson. On the other, Steve Harrington.

Ugh.

Robin had been in love with Tammy Thompson since the fifth grade, when they split a candy bar the day after Halloween. Robin wasn’t allowed to eat much candy growing up, thanks to her father being a dentist. Tammy extended an olive branch by means of chocolate nougat, and Robin had been smitten ever since.

This was their first class together in high school, and it was supposed to be amazing. Robin was going to work up the courage to really talk to Tammy and maybe even be her friend. Yeah, it might torture Robin even more, considering the crush that was clearly not going to go anywhere - Robin had watched Tammy date enough guys to know there was no chance, and even if there was, Robin was far too anxious to do anything about it.

But still.

The first day of Click’s class came, and it was perfect. Robin was paired up with Tammy to discuss an assignment, and they were getting along beautifully. Robin even made her laugh!

Robin was an idiot who got her hopes up, and those hopes were immediately dashed when Steve “The Hair” Harrington rolled into the classroom, late, and plopped himself down right in front of Robin.

Immediately, Tammy’s eyes were on him, and they stayed on him the rest of the year. It didn’t matter when he got bagel crumbs everywhere, or asked stupid questions, or laughed along when kids were being made fun of. None of that mattered, because Tammy didn’t care.

Robin hated Steve Harrington so much she never stopped thinking about him. She thought about how much she hated him, how much she wished he’d flunk out, and she even thought about ways she could sabotage him so he would flunk out.

But Robin was a good person, and she could never do something like that.

Anyway, thank goodness she was smart, because she barely paid attention in that class and still got an A. The problem was, she started hearing voices.

Well, no. She heard one voice, singular. A man, no less.

At first it was so soft, she figured someone was whispering behind her. She couldn’t even make out the words most of the time, so it didn’t matter. She’d look at Tammy, and she’d look at Steve, and everything else was a blur.

Over time, the voice got louder, and then Robin couldn’t ignore it anymore.

This class is such a snooze.

Honestly, it was. Robin would have been thinking the same thing, had she been paying attention. But then, the voice started saying things she didn’t agree with. Things she would never think.

Napoleon looks just like Aunt Margaret’s baby. Ha, that’s funny. I’m funny.

The voice continued, saying even stranger things. Usually very sexual things. Sometimes, downright offensive things. It was maddening.

Mrs. Buckley was a psychotherapist, so Robin grew up surrounded by literature about psychology and the human brain. She was aware of crazy people that heard voices, and she had no option other than to accept that she was on the road to becoming one of those people. It was just…it was weird though, because she only heard the voice at school. And it was always loudest in Click’s class.

The possibility that she was reading someone’s mind did occur to her, but that seemed impossible. It was impossible, so she had a hard time even letting herself think that. Yeah, Robin would have rather found herself crazy than let herself believe she was a superhero. Her mom would have had a field day unpacking that one with her.

Anyway, she finally put all the pieces together a few weeks in, after another particularly boring lecture in Click’s class.

I’m so lost.

Literally how? They were just reviewing information they’d already learned. She wondered if maybe this voice was a manifestation of her low self esteem or something. She wished she would have been able to tell her parents without worrying about being sent to the loony bin.

“Steve?” Mrs. Click called. “Can you name the four presidents depicted on Mount Rushmore?”

The voice continued.

Oh, shit. Shit shit shit. I’m screwed. Why is she asking me of all people? Do I look like I know the goddamn answer?

It was the first time the voice was responding. Robin’s head started reeling.

“Uhhhh -” Steve began. “Well, it’s, uhhh….” Okay, four presidents. I can name four presidents. If they’re wrong, she’ll move on. “George Washington…”

“Very good,” Mrs. Click encouraged.

Right on, okay. Shit. Is Benjamin Franklin a president? He seems like he should be.

Robin’s breath hitched as she froze, recognizing the two voices as the same and officially coming to terms with her predicament. She gasped, cupping her hand over her mouth. A few people turned to look at her, including Steve, who only glanced at her before looking back at the front of the classroom.

Steve cleared his throat and sat up. “Uhh, what about all the presidents that aren’t on Mount Rushmore, right? Like - like Teddy Roosevelt. That guy was a total badass.” Steve folded his arms, as if he’d made an incredible, life changing point.

“Theodore Roosevelt is one of the presidents on Mount Rushmore, Mr. Harrington,” Mrs. Click said.

“Oh,” Steve replied, caught off guard. Fuck. “Oh, right. I mean, that’s what I was trying to say.”

You’re an idiot, Steve. A goddamn idiot.

Robin couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, in a way. She hated him, but still. He was a person with feelings. He couldn’t help that he was an idiot.

She raised her hand.

“Mrs. Click, I know the answer,” Robin announced. The teacher gestured for Robin to take over. “George Washington, Theodore Roosevelt, Abraham Lincoln, and Thomas Jefferson.”

Thank God for band geeks.

Robin sighed. Sure, she’d helped him. But he was still a douchebag.

The class carried on like this. Any time Robin felt any sort of connection to Tammy, she’d get distracted by the idiot who’s hair wasn’t even that good. It certainly didn’t warrant a whole nickname over. Steve “I don’t care” Harrington would have been more accurate.

That’s the part that drove Robin the most crazy. He didn’t care about Tammy. He didn’t care about school. He didn’t care about history. Why was he there? Why was his one true talent being the absolute bane of her existence?

I have to stop thinking about it.

Robin’s ears perked up, which was a silly phrase considering she wasn’t hearing soundwaves. The whole, “I’m hearing Steve Harrington’s inner thoughts” had lost its luster. Like, she thought she was going crazy, then she thought she was going crazy in a different way, and then she realized she was just cursed.

Worst. Superpower. Ever.

Especially because she couldn’t hear anyone else! What made Steve different? Why him, of all people???

Grow up, Steve. It doesn’t mean anything.

The voice sounded much more somber that day. Robin leaned back, closer to Steve’s seat, even though the idea of her being physically closer was a bit arbitrary.

Ugh, but Tommy looks so good today.

Wait, did he say Tammy? Was he finally giving Tammy the time of day?

What I’d give to kiss him again…

Robin’s eyes bulged out of her head. She practically fell out of her chair, causing alarm to the rest of the class.

‘Him?!?!’ Steve wanted to kiss ‘him?!?!’ Wait - Steve had this friend - Tommy H - and, ugh, that guy was even worse than Steve. He was meaner, and stupider, and -

STEVE WANTED TO KISS A GUY?! AGAIN?!

Robin scrambled back into her seat, muttering a quiet apology, and everything around her returned to normal.

She didn’t, though. Nothing would ever be normal again.

Robin survived Click’s class. Steve started getting a reputation. She didn’t talk to him, but there was nothing discreet about the way he was seen prancing through the halls with his arm around a different girl every week.

None of them were Tammy. Robin hated how relieved that made her.

It was strange. He was drooling about Tommy in his mind any time Robin was close enough to hear it, but on the outside, he was pretending to be something completely different.

For the first time, Robin realized she and Steve had something in common.

The following year, she avoided him at all costs. They didn’t have any other classes together, so she really only had to worry about casually passing him in the halls or sitting near him in the cafeteria. It just felt too real to be around him. She knew something she wasn’t supposed to, and that made her feel…icky.

Of course, they were at the same school, so they did run into each other a few times. Once, he literally bumped into her when he wasn’t paying attention.

“Woah, sorry,” he said with a laugh. Do I know her?

Robin rolled her eyes, and then she saw his gaze drift. Ugh, Carol. Why is he even dating her?

She ran away without another word, like a scared little mouse. He probably thought she was this weird, hyper, super-nerd, but whatever. It didn’t matter what he thought of her, and she wasn’t going to stick around long enough to find out.

Then, one day, she saw Tommy and Steve running off to talk in private, and curiosity got the best of her.

She had to know what was going on, okay? She was borderline obsessed with Steve at this point. She was far past trying to figure out what was going on in her head, so she settled for learning more about what was going on in his.

Besides, if they really wanted the conversation to be private, they would have gone somewhere that didn’t have a spot nearby prime for snooping.

She listened in from behind a wall.

“What are you on about, Harrington?” Tommy asked.

He’s not even listening. I don’t know why I’m surprised anymore.

“I’m just saying, she’s - like, what are you doing, man?”

There was a slam of a body against a locker.

“I got a girlfriend,” Tommy drawled. “You should try it sometime.”

God, his lips are so close. I could just lean in and - no. No, I have to get over this. I can’t keep doing this.

“Maybe I will,” Steve said.

About a week later, he was dating Nancy Wheeler.

Their paths didn’t intersect much at all after that. Robin did think about meddling or investigating the situation more, but it wasn’t her business. Steve kept telling himself he had to move on, and she did too.

She still thought about Steve constantly, but it was hard not to. He was literally in her head. Sometimes she’d pass by him and hear total nonsense. I’d rather be fighting a goddamn demodog than go to math. Most of the time he just thought about what superpowers he’d have.

And then, mercifully, he graduated.

That summer, Robin got a job slinging ice cream at a nautical-themed store in Starcourt Mall. She had to wear a stupid outfit, but, like - she was in the marching band, she was used to that. The job was fine, albeit boring. It gave her extra money so she could save up for…something, eventually. She didn’t know what yet. Maybe college? Every penny counts and all that.

But one fateful day in June, the voice came back.

No, no, no. I can’t go in there, not like this. It’s humiliating. I’ll - no, get over yourself. It’s just a job. You stupid pathetic loser, can’t even get into college. No, shh. This will be good for you. Just - oh my God, just go in!

Robin didn’t even look up from wiping the counter when her new coworker approached. She didn’t have to.

He was different than when he’d been in high school. He was sadder. It was even more miserable to hear him ramble on about his innermost insecurities than it was to hear him think about boobs.

Like, at least Robin also thought about boobs. She was insecure too, but that meant there was no space in her brain to hear anyone else’s thoughts about themselves.

The weird thing was, he didn’t think about Tommy at all, and he was flirting with every woman that came in. Unsuccessfully, but still.

It was…incredibly surreal, her becoming friends with someone and hearing them become friends with her at the same time. Robin could hear him trust her more and more as the days went by. She could hear him change his initial assumptions about her. She could hear him soften up, open up, and show her that he’d changed. He was different than he’d been in Click’s class. He’d left his high school persona behind.

She could hear him slowly fall for her.

That was the worst part of the whole thing by far. Worse than Click’s class. Worse than holding his secret feelings for Tommy, worse than the stupid questions and musings that made no sense. He was starting to love her, and she was starting to love him - but, she knew the types of love weren’t the same. She would disappoint him, and she’d lose him.

How strange it was to fear losing something she used to loathe having at all.

Honestly, by the time they were stuck in that elevator, she’d been prepped on everything based on Steve’s thoughts alone. There was too much going on for anyone to question her lack of freaking out. Besides, it’s not like Steve or Dustin were the poster children for good decisions under pressure.

At least, she figured they wouldn’t be.

Erica was strong and capable, but she was a child. So was Dustin, but it was abundantly clear to Robin that this wasn’t his first rodeo. Same with Steve, but she knew that already. Over the few weeks of them working together, she’d heard all kinds of things. Things she’d once brushed off as nonsense, that became too specific to ignore. The Upside Down. The Russians. Eleven. The Mindflayer.

Robin thought it was part of some game, at first. Dustin was into Dungeons and Dragons, right? She was pretty sure the Mindflayer was from that, but no. Steve wasn’t into Dungeons and Dragons at all - she checked - and she started hearing more about experiences rooted in the real world. She heard about what really happened to Barb, and how it ripped Steve and Nancy apart. She heard about how Nancy ran off with Jonathan, and how Steve let her. She heard about Steve becoming a babysitter in the thick of it, because he had to. She heard about how he got himself beat up in the name of protecting them.

And then she watched him get beat up again, in the name of protecting her.

She did love him. Yeah. It was against everything she’d ever believed, but she loved Steve Harrington. She just didn’t love him like that.

She tried to tell him when they were on the floor, tied to the chair, and seemingly with only hours left to live, if that.

She started laughing. She wasn’t sure what else there was to do.

Fuck, that hurt. Oh shit, she’s crying. “It’s okay, don’t cry. Robin.” Ugh, the way he was trying to comfort her even in the worst of times. It made her ache. She kept laughing, louder now. “Wait, are you laughing?”

Yup.

“Yeah.”

What the hell is wrong with this woman?

“Jesus.”

“I just can’t believe,” she began, “that I’m going to die in a secret Russian base with Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington. It’s just too trippy, man.”

It was trippy for even more reasons than he could ever know.

Yeah, you’re telling me. We’re screwed. “We’re not gonna die,” he said. Another annoying consequence of this whole mind reading thing was that she would always know when he was lying. “We’re gonna get out of here, I just gotta think for a second.”

“Sure, please do,” Robin insisted, still laughing. Him thinking consisted mostly of, shit shit shit oh my God shit what do we do?

But Steve rarely let that side show. He was so much different on the inside, all the time.

“Do you remember, um - Sophomore year Mrs. Click’s history class?”

Oh, shit. That just slipped out. Then again, they were gonna die, so…

“What?”

Robin continued. “Mrs. Clickety-Clackety. That’s what all us band dweebs called her. It was first period - Tuesdays and Thursdays - so you were always late. And you always had the same breakfast. Bacon egg and cheese on a sesame bagel. I sat behind you two days a week for a year. Mister Funny. Mister Cool. The King of Hawkins High himself. Do you even remember me from that class?”

No.

He didn’t say it, and he didn’t have to. “Of course you don’t,” Robin continued. Thoughts of that year came flooding back to her like a tsunami. “You were a real asshole, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“But it didn’t even matter that you were an ass, I was still obsessed with you." The words were pouring out of her now. "Even though all of us losers pretend to be above it all, we still just want to be popular. Accepted. Normal.”

His thoughts were a mere buzzing in the background of her confession, but she did pick out him lighting up at her mentioning her obsession. She immediately wished she’d just been totally honest, because now she was being misconstrued.

“If it makes you feel any better, having those things isn’t all that great,” he said.

She knew that by now. She’d learned it through him.

“Steve, I -”

“I wish I’d known you back in Click’s class,” Steve said. “Maybe you would have helped me pass.”

“I did,” she confessed. “Or, at least I tried.”

“What?”

A buzzer shook them away from their conversation. She’d missed her chance. It was over.

And then came the truth serum. That damned, terrifying, life-changing, blessed truth serum.

Well, that and Dustin saving their asses with a cattle prod.

After that came more laughter and terror and running and even more laughter and more running and then they were in an elevator back up to the real world again. She was with her friend and she was ecstatic. It was like she was floating. She’d never so much as had a sip of alcohol, but this is what she always imagined musicians felt like when they wrote all those songs about being on drugs.

Popcorn. Back to the Future. Laughing, laughing, laughing. You know, the weird part about that truth serum was that she stopped hearing Steve’s thoughts, if only for a bit. He said everything he thought, so it really just sounded like an echo, and everything sounded like an echo to her. The colors were bright. The noises were loud. And Steve was -

Oh, no. Steve was her best friend.

They both got sick and ran for the bathroom. There was that rare moment of calm that, up until that point, she never thought she’d have again.

“You think we puked all that shit out of our system?” he asked.

Well. There was only one way to find out.

“Maybe,” Robin responded. “Ask me something.”

If he could read her mind, he would have heard something like - Ask me if I’m gay. Please, do this for me like I did for you. I don’t think I can say the words.

Instead, he asked her when the last time she peed herself was. She answered truthfully, but that wasn’t a truth she was scared to admit. They were being tortured earlier - peeing herself was the least of her worries.

“Alright, my turn,” Robin said. She took a deep breath and pondered the question, knowing that whatever she asked she likely already knew the answer to. But it wasn’t about knowing. It was about getting to the conversation she needed to have. If she didn’t do it now, she never would.

“Have you ever been in love?”

Steve answered quickly. “Yep. Nancy Wheeler, first semester, senior year.”

He didn’t mention Tommy, which was intriguing. From Robin’s point of view, he had dated her for show. Or, he’d dated her because Tommy rejected him.

“Really?” Robin asked, amused. “But she’s such a priss.”

Yeah, until she threatened to shoot me. “Hm,” Steve replied. “Turns out, not really.”

Woah. Okay. Evidently, Robin didn’t know everything yet.

“Are you still in love with Nancy?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I think I found someone who’s a little bit better for me.”

Robin took a deep breath and put her head in her hands. This needed to happen, but she was still so scared. Even if he wasn’t homophobic, he loved her, and she was about to turn him down. How could their friendship sustain that? What would happen if he hated her guts, and she had to hear him think it every time they interacted?

She listened to him list off all the reasons he liked her. She was funny. She was smart. She was cool. Beautiful. He said all the things she’d heard him say in so many ways on the inside, but now it was real.

She couldn’t find any words to respond.

“Robin, did you just O.D. in there?”

“No,” she replied, her voice shaking. “I am still alive.”

He slid himself under the stall against the disgusting floor so he could face her. Oh, great. This wasn’t going to help at all.

“So what do you think?” he asked.

“Steve, I have to tell you something,” she said. “That thing I told you earlier, about being obsessed with you in Click’s class - it wasn’t - it wasn’t because I had a crush on you.”

He listened so intently his mind went quiet.

Robin told Steve about Tammy Thompson, and she saw him process it in real time. It didn’t take long, once he understood what she was referring to.

“Oh,” he finally said. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Holy shit.”

This is huge. I should tell her about Tommy. I should - I could - I finally have someone I can talk to about it.

“Steve, did you O.D. over there?”

“No, just thinking.”

I - I can’t. I can’t do it.

So instead, he did what he did best, and he made her laugh. And then the entire moment became focused on that, and how insane it was for them to be on the floor of the Starcourt bathroom after having spent days underground being tortured by Russians.

She didn’t get to tell him her other secret that day. They were quickly interrupted yet again by Dustin and thrust back into the madness.

But it didn’t matter. She knew she’d still have a friend once they saved the world.

After Starcourt “burned down” (Robin had to admit, she kind of loved officially being a part of the inner circle. She was now involved in the madness, and even though it was terrifying and awful and traumatic, it was so much more exciting than her world used to be), Robin and Steve decided to keep working together, because of course they did.

He had her secret, and she had his. He still didn’t know about that second part though.

They got a job at Family Video, thanks to her excellent ability to think on her feet and ramble until people gave her what she wanted. Keith was relatively easy to persuade.

After she came out to him and they became best buds, reading his mind developed into more of an echo all the time when it was just the two of them, because he told her everything he was thinking exactly the way he thought it.

There was only one thing he left out.

Tom Cruise is so hot. Oh God, do I have a kink for dudes named Tom?

Then, after Eddie Munson came in a few times - Huh, okay. There goes the Tom theory.

Robin couldn’t take it anymore. So, one day, when Steve was driving her home, she blurted it out.

“Steve, I can read your mind.”

He laughed at first. “What?”

“I can read your mind,” she said. “Just yours.”

“Uhhhh, is this some kind of weird joke?” he asked.

“No,” she replied. “I’m - ugh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you, and I - I’ve felt really awful about it, but I’ve been hearing your stupid thoughts ever since Click’s class, and I tried to tell you that day, but then I ended up telling you the other thing, and this felt like too much, and then we became really good friends and honestly it’s barely a thing anymore because we tell each other everything except for -”

“Wait, what??!”

Yeah, she knew she sounded crazy.

“Remember that day Mrs. Click called on you to ask which presidents were on Mount Rushmore? And you totally bombed?”

“No,” Steve said. “That kinda thing happened to me like three times a day.”

“Ugh, okay, well -” Robin stuttered, at least grateful he wasn’t kicking her out of the car. “Never mind. It’s just -”

“It’s only me?” he wondered. His voice was different now. “What am I thinking about right now?”

Robin honed in on his inner voice. “You just thought about how you accidentally stepped on a copy of The Breakfast Club and smashed it, and instead of confessing to Keith you told him that John Dover stole it and never gave it back, even though John Dover isn’t real.”

Steve’s eyes went wide.

“Hoooooly shit,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“Holy shit!” he repeated.

“I know!”

“Oh, my God!”

“I know!”

“Robin, this is insane!”

“I KNOW!!”

The car went quiet as Steve continued to wrap his brain around this. Well, it was quiet to anyone but the two of them.

Why is it only me?

“I don’t know,” Robin answered.

“Will you quit doing that?”

“I can’t help it!” she shot back.

Steve took a deep breath. “Okay, so you’ve been reading my mind for years. Got it. Cool. Totally cool.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not telling you.”

Steve gave a comforting smile. “Oh, yeah. You should be sorry for that.” Robin smacked him in response, and suddenly they were laughing again.

“Jerk!” she exclaimed. Once their laughter died down, he hummed in amusement.

"You know, it's really not fair you can read my mind and I can't read yours."

Robin nodded. "Agreed." There was another moment of silence between them.

“Huh,” he said. “Do you think we’re soulmates?”

Robin cocked her head and furrowed her brow in confusion. “What? Ew, Steve no -”

“Not, like, sexy soulmates,” he clarified.

“Sexy soulmates? Really?” she teased.

“Give me a break, Buckley,” he replied. “I just found out you’ve been in my head for two years, alright? It’s weird.”

She couldn’t argue with that. “Yeah.”

“So,” Steve continued. “You knew about the Upside Down stuff before the elevator thing.”

“Yeah.”

“Which means you also probably know…”

The Tommy thing.

“Yeah,” she confirmed.

“Stop saying yeah.”

“Okay.”

“I guess I just -” Steve sighed, throwing his head back against the seat. “I guess I’m freaking out a little, cuz like - privacy and all that.”

“I wish I could control it, trust me -”

“No, I know that,” he replied. “I mean, shit, if I could be out of my own head I would be. But, like, I don’t know. It’s kinda nice that you’re in there. Like, if it had to be anyone…”

“It would be your non-sexy soulmate,” Robin concluded with a smirk.

Steve returned it. “Oh, I’m gonna regret that, huh?”

“Forever and ever, babe.”

She couldn’t believe it. Finally, everything was out in the open. It was all up from here, right?

“Okay,” Steve said. “Well. If this is happening whether we like it or not, better put it to good use, right?”

She raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” Steve grinned. Robin’s eyes widened as she heard his idea moments before they were spoken.

“Robin, I’m gonna help you talk to girls.”

WHAT?!

This was hopeless and humiliating. How Steve was able to convince her this was a good idea, she would never know.

Tammy had graduated and gone to Nashville or whatever, but Vickie…

They had so much in common! And she was so pretty, and so sweet, and - and they played right next to each other in the marching band!

Of course, Robin could barely squeak a word out whenever Vickie looked her way. Thus, Steve decided she needed to practice.

He let her take some of the pretty customers instead of keeping them all for himself. At first, it was rough.

Be cool. Act like you don’t even like her.

“I don’t even like you.”

Okay, not like that.

It got easier, though. Eventually, Robin started to take hold of that classic Harrington charm. She wasn’t getting numbers or anything, but that’s not what it was about. It was their own special thing that they had. A secret mission. An inside joke. A bit they were fully committed to, even if only for their own enjoyment.

It was so weird and ridiculous, but whatever.

Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington, one-sided mind-reading duo and non-sexy soulmates. Who would have thought?

___________________________

I have no idea who to tag for this (my taglist is based on romantic pairings lmao), so hopefully whoever is interested finds it okay! <3

#platonic stobin #steve harrington #robin buckley #writing #stobin #steve and robin #platonic soulmates stobin

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apomaro-mellow · 4 months ago

Note

I don't know anything about Supernatural but if you want to make a Steddie fic (which is what I'm assuming you meant) where Eddie was originally Steve's car or whatever and got turned human, I'm a-ok with that! Winkwink

Basically it was a common trope in Supernatural fics for Dean's beloved car to turn into a human and stir the pot between him and Cas. So it would go a lil sum'n like this

Eddie stared at the guy Dustin had sitting in Steve's living room. He had on a black blazer jacket and a burgundy shirt underneath it and Dustin was claiming very adamantly that this man was Steve's car.

"Admit it! This isn't even the craziest thing that's ever happened in this town", Dustin said.

"All that crazy shit made sense when you put it together. Why would the Mind Flayer turn my car into a person? Explain that, Henderson!"

Eddie was also finding it difficult to believe but he had less experience with all this and he didn't want to think about other reasons a random guy might go to a young teen's house. But the guy was dressed nice and it figured Steve's ride would be as posh as him. And now that the guy was sitting right in front of them, Eddie had to stop calling him 'Steve's ride'.

"So you got a name, pal?", Eddie asked.

The guy blinked. "Steve usually just calls me baby."

Steve blushed, Dustin paled, and Eddie looked about two seconds from punching a wall.

"We can't call you that", Steve said once his voice returned.

"Does that mean I can't call you Daddy?"

"I knew you were gross!", Dustin accused, pointing a finger at Steve while Eddie was thinking it was time for this guy to go.

"I've never made anyone call me that! That's how I know he's lying", Steve said in his defense.

The guy stood up and walked over to Steve. "'Daddy's home, open up for Daddy, it's just Daddy and you tonight, Daddy's gonna wear out the tires tonight bab-"

"OKAY!" Dustin's hands went up to cover his ears. "Can we have some respect for my innocence?"

Eddie wanted to bop Dustin one for bringing this guy here but he was digging his own grave as well. That still didn't stop the ugly feeling rolling around in his belly.

"Wait, so, okay, if you're my car...", Steve took a deep breath. "Then you must know...", his eyes flitted to Eddie.

"Yeah. I know."

Human!beemer ig?

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie #dustin henderson

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steviewashere · 9 months ago

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Early Morning Thoughts 🔞Minors DNI🔞

Okay, I'm going feral this morning and need to just get this Steddie fic idea out of my brain.

Thinking of Steddie who recently start a fuckbuddy relationship (before dating). Both of which are usually pretty quiet when they masturbate alone, but together they are...incredibly loud. (Something, something—the volume of their sex is a testament to their love for one another or whatever.)

Something about Eddie spending Friday nights with Steve, staying over and sharing a bed with him (literally). And in the early hours of Saturday morning, they fuck nasty and ear-piercing. Thinking about them fucking in Steve's weird ass bedroom, in his lonely and otherwise silent house.

Of Steve and Eddie sleeping with the windows open on Friday nights. Because they both get a little too warm at night. And when they have sex—which is nasty but also sickeningly tender, sweet, and genuine—every single one of Steve's neighbors can hear them. Can hear Steve whining high pitched and mewling and shouting when he comes. Can hear Eddie grunt and pant and moan so hoarsely that his voice remains deep and gravelly for the rest of the day.

But the neighbors never complain about it because they know how absent Steve's parents are, they know how quiet the house tends to be when it's just Steve there. So though it's usually crazy loud, at least the Harrington's kid is getting love. (Bonus points if they think that the person who's whining is a girl, but turns out it's just Steve.)

Anyway. Windows open sex, my beloved.

#nsft #minors dni #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #friends to lovers #but they're fuckbuddies first

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plistommy · 10 months ago

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First ’part!’

Steve dropped Robin off at her house after the drive home from college, laughing as she gave him that disappointed parent look while getting out of the car with her duffle bag.

He told her he was going to Eddie’s with a grin.

”You’re gonna make me puke,” She groaned ”No need for details tomorrow. And remember tomorrow too, we got an 8am shift. You better be there.

”Yeah, yeah! Love you!” Steve laughed as Robin pushed the car door close and flipped him the bird.

When Steve got to Eddie’s trailer, he bit his bottom lip with excitement as he parked his car and got up. He knew he had just gotten up from a six hour drive, but he still made sure to look as good as ever as he walked to the front door and knocked on it with a smile.

Surprisingly, Wayne was opening it and Steve straightened his posture immediately with a big smile.

”Hey, Wayne!”

”Steve,” the old man smiled. ”Back from the trip?”

”Yeah! Just dropped Robin off. It was nice, she really liked the place.” He said smoothly.

”That’s nice.” Wayne hummed. ”Eddie’s in his room practicing and I was about to head out for work. Feel free to come in and make yourself at home. I’m sure he’d like to see you.”

”Thank you.” Steve said with a smile. He knows how to act with parents. Always with respect and a little bit of that Harrington charm of his. Wayne was a nice man.

When Steve walked inside, Wayne told him they had food in the fridge and some beer, reminding him to tell Eddie to take a break from his practice because ’he always listens to you’ and then he was gone.

Steve took a deep breath before he started to walk towards Eddie’s room at the very back, the loud noise coming from his beloved electric guitar growing louder and louder as Steve got to his door.

He pushed it open, knowing knocking would be useless because Eddie wouldn’t be able to hear him.

Eddie had his dark hair on a ponytail, tattoos on display as he was shirtless with only sweatpants on - Steve’s sweatpants - while sitting on his bed with a concentrated look on his face.

And fuck did that make Steve horny as his eyes slowly took in all of him. His arms as he played, those fingers and especially the heavy outline of something big inside those sweatpants.

Steve had to bite back a moan. He needed to get it together, but who could blame him when his boyfriend was this hot.

The said boyfriend hadn’t noticed him yet, so Steve took a step forward and stopped right in front of Eddie and that’s when those big brown eyes looked up.

The playing stopped immediately.

”Steve?”

”Hey, babe.” He grinned.

Eddie was gaping at him before he was throwing his guitar to the floor, carefully, and got up. He wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist and pulled him into a kiss, making Steve go little bit on to his tiptoes as Eddie pulled him closer.

Steve laughed a little but happily laid his hands to Eddie’s soft cheeks and deepened the kiss.

They made out for what felt like hours before Steve pulled away and took in Eddie’s flushed face.

”Missed me?” He said oh so sweetly and that got a reaction out of Eddie as he pinched Steve’s sides.

”Asshole,” Eddie started, the deep voice of his going a little high pitched when he was annoyed. ”You almost made me a dead man, you know that, right? And to hide it under my pillow for fucks sake. Wayne almost found it when he tried to change the sheets—”

”Wow wow wow, he tried to change your sheets? I thought he was picking up cans?”

”They were dirty because a certain person made a mess of himself last time and I didn’t have energy to, but not the fucking point, Steve!”

Steve just giggled loudly as Eddie went on and on about what a tease he was to leave that type of polaroid behind when he’d know how crazy Eddie would go over it.

Like that wasn’t the whole point.

Steve liked to be a tease.

When Eddie was rambling too much, Steve stopped him with a kiss on the lips and it worked, every single time.

He untangled Eddie’s hair and pulled him closer.

Eddie groaned into the kiss, hands roaming down on Steve’s body as they happily found their spot on top of the younger boy's ass.

A squeeze.

”Mhm, Eddie…” Steve moaned as he pulled back, letting Eddie kiss down his throat as he played with his ass.

Maybe he had been a little worked up too for the past three days. He just had it easier with Robin and their plans for the days to have some distraction while Eddie was at home with the polaroid.

Steve still wished he could’ve seen Eddie’s face when he found it.

It was of Steve's ass, but what drove Eddie so over the edge over it was how the picture was taken. With Steve spreading his right ass cheek so Eddie could see a small glimpse of his hole that was wet from lube.

And a small ’Missing your dick. Xo, Steve’ written at the bottom of the polaroid.

Eddie always loved when he spread his cheeks for him, so Steve did it on purpose.

”You drove me insane with a picture like that. Have no idea how much I've wanted to fuck you for the past three days. How much I’ve jerked myself off thinking about it being your hole wrapped around my dick…”

And oooh yeah. Steve was gone.

He pushed Eddie down to the bed, coming to straddle his hips as he leaned down to kiss him again. He grinded down to the other’s clothed cock and it made him already whine like a pathetic slut.

Steve wanted it so bad.

Eddie rubbed his ass and gave it a smack as Steve grinded down harder.

”Oh my god—” he cried and buried his face into the crook of Eddie's neck.

”Hmm, and you said I would be the one not being able to hold back?” Eddie said smugly.

”Fuck you,” Steve moaned and pulled his head back. ”Need your dick like, really badly, dude.”

Eddie chuckled and patted his cheek before pushing Steve off and manhandling him to lay down onto his belly.

”Oh, I know you do. Was the big boy so desperate for not being able to have my cock inside for three days?”

Oh god, this was so embarrassing, but so so hot. Steve just couldn’t believe he was the first one to crack after all of that teasing.

He arched his back as Eddie pulled down his tight jeans and underwear with one go and then he felt a hot tongue on his hole and fingers and fuck.

Steve had missed this. Even though it had only been three days.

Eddie always ate him out like he was made for it. He knew Steve’s body so well and he always left him wanting more after he had finished with him. It also helped that Eddie had a long tongue. And the skills coming with it.

He felt ringed fingers spreading open his cheeks as Eddie pushed his head deeper, letting out these obscene sounds as he literally moaned at the taste of him.

Steve couldn’t help but to moan back as he grinded his ass onto the other’s mouth, hands clutching Eddie’s sheets like his life depended on it.

”Missed your ass,” Eddie groaned when he pulled back a little, stretching closer to his bedside table to get the lube and soon Steve felt the cold liquid on his hole and two fingers pushing in.

”Yeeesss…” Steve’s eyes rolled back into his head as they were fully seated inside him. Eddie didn’t give him time to settle, he didn’t even really need it, and started to fuck him with them.

He added a third finger pretty quickly, even fourth one as he fucked Steve open, getting him ready for his cock.

”Eds c’mon! Fuck me!”

”What’s the magic word?”

Steve groaned under him as Eddie pulled his fingers off.

”Please, Eddie,” Steve turned his head, brown eyes glossy with so much need ”Please.”

He was turned around again, jeans pulled off of him and his legs were thrown over Eddie’s shoulders as the older boy looked down at him with a wide grin.

Always taking advantage of Steve’s flexibility.

”Even though I love your ass, I love to look at your face even more.” He purred and then he was lining himself up and finally pushing inside Steve.

And Steve could’ve just cum on that spot.

His mouth was open in a silent scream as Eddie bottomed inside him, always so fucking long and thick Steve felt it in his throat.

Eddie was biting his bottom lip, eyes screwed shut as he was probably trying his best to not cum immediately as well.

”E-Eddie—” Steve whined and Eddie just moaned on top of him.

They kept still for a while until Steve started to squirm.

”Oh my god, Eddie, just fuck me!”

”Yeah, yeah, okay!” Eddie nodded hurriedly and pulled out before pushing right back in, making them both moan loudly.

Steve wrapped his arms around Eddie’s head when he started a rough peace, holding on for dear life as his boyfriend fucking devoured him.

It felt like they hadn’t fucked in years. They were going at it like animals and they probably sounded like onces too because they couldn’t help how loud they got.

Steve was just happy Wayne had left to work. He didn’t wanna think about the poor man hearing all of this.

”Mhm, you take me so well, Steve,” Eddie moaned and Steve just whined as an answer.

He tugged Eddie’s hair and pulled him in for a kiss, but it was more like breathing and moaning into each other's mouths.

”Love your b-big cock!”

”Oh shit!” Eddie cursed, biting Steve’s earlobe as he picked up his pace. The skin on skin growing more frantic as Eddie’s hips met Steve’s ass.

Steve was sure he couldn’t feel his legs anymore, but he didn’t care. Not even when Eddie leaned closer to him and his legs were split apart so widely.

”You’re so beautiful, sweetheart.” Eddie looked down at him and Steve gave a little laugh before Eddie’s dick hit that spot inside him that made his whole body tense as he came.

It felt like he would black out as his orgasm felt like it was never ending. He hadn’t felt this intense in a while.

”Shit you’re perfect, you’re, you’re so—” Eddie moaned as his orgasm hit him, his hips shaking a little as he filled Steve’s hole with so much cum.

They kept letting out little moans as they calmed down, both sweaty and gross. Eddie slowly let Steve’s legs fall down and it made Steve whine pitifully.

Eddie chuckled before dropping down next to him, cock slipping out and he pressed a soft kiss onto Steve’s cheek.

”You alright, baby?”

Steve nodded ”Uh-huh. Just a little… just a little,” he was trying to get out which just made them both crack up.

”I fucked you that good?”

Steve snorted ”Duh, man. You know how much I love your dick.”

Eddie groaned and leaned down to kiss Steve, pushing his brown locks away from his sweaty face.

”You need to stop with the teasing.”

Steve looked at Eddie and grinned ”Why? It seems to get me really good things.”

Eddie just rolled his eyes and patted Steve’s ass.

”I know, darling. But you can just ask me nicely next time.” He grinned, those cute dimples of his showing.

”What’s the fun in that?” Steve pouted ”I loved how you were all whiny when you called me. Soooo desperate.”

”Oh I was the desperate one now? Huh? You were the one to jump on by dick the second you got here!”

”And you let me.” Steve bit back with a sweet smile and Eddie laughed loudly.

”You little shit. I’m so gonna get back at you for this.”

Steve just giggled and let Eddie wrap his arms around him.

”No need, man. I already got your huuuge dick imprinted on my mind. No need for pictures.” Steve said, so casually, but he knew it was making Eddie go crazy.

That was confirmed when Eddie growled, fucking growled and snatched Steve by the hands and pulled them behind his back and...

They were going at it, again.

They had really missed each other.

And if Steve got a little late work the next day, he blamed jet lag. Robin said that wasn’t possible, but Steve kept to his words while she cursed him out.

Thankfully she forgave him the next hour when he brought her her favorite snacks and took care of the most annoying customers.

”How did Eddie react when you got back?” Robin asked when they were closing off.

”Thought you didn’t wanna know.”

”You’re right,” She sighed ”But I do wanna know if he gave you a hard time like you deserved to.”

Steve grinned a little and that’s all Robin needed to know as she gagged and made a face.

#SEXY TIMES #NEEDED to continue this #It was such a fun concept to me #And I needed to write the reunion 👀#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #steddie fandom #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie x steve #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #lemon #robin buckley #wayne munson

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anika-ann · 10 months ago

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GG Steve and A, I, and/or R??

Well hello, Ro, sorry that this took so embarrassingly long 🥲

Here are some dirty thoughts from this game concerning my beloved Gentle Giant Stevie from Love on the Brain in scrambled order... you'll find the dirtiest and longest at the bottom (is this a pun? it's a bad pun). Technically, the you is his partner in every sense of the word aka Sparkles, but it can be read independently of the series.

Thots under cut. Warnings: they are 18+, okay- also there's very little editing, it's a headcanon, not an essay.

R - Routine (do they have a routine when it comes to picking up one night stands? do they have scheduled sex with their partner? are things spontaneous or planned ahead of time?)

One-night stands are no-no. Very much no no and they were even before he met you… but where scheduled sex is concerned the answer is also no. With your crazy schedules, it might make sense to try to plan so you can squeeze in some intimate together time, but with emergency missions… not so much. Things keep getting in the way (cough cough, there might be a ‘drabble’ about them getting actually frustrated at the lack of closeness and sexual encounters of theirs in general due to schedule conflicts). So spontaneity usually wins – certainly in a way of appreciating every moment you catch together. It doesn’t always have to be sexual per se, but it often ends up that way 😏 You had two years of pent-up sexual tension, can anyone blame you??? Not to mention that adrenalin and emotions can sometimes fly high, so if there is something routine-like, it’s winding down together after a mission, be it sweet and tender, all desperate hungry kisses with clashes of teeth, grasping and grabbing and fuck me we are alive, or celebratory god damn you were hot and capable and badass today. Does that count as a routine? One routine thing though; Steve is a man with a plan. Just because he doesn’t necessarily schedule sex, he is using his strategic mind to find windows in your calendar so you find time to be together. To take you out for a date for dinner, for a bike ride, or just lie under the stars and cuddle. Sure, these things often do result in intimacy of all kinds, but that man has a heart larger than his already impressive body and you fill a huge portion of it; it’s only fair you take up his time too.

P.S. The man is not only a planner but an overthinker often. Remember when it took you forever to sleep together for the first time? He ran his mind over thousands of scenarios, planned everything he’d say, everything he’d do, guessed how you’d react (and had some alone time over that a lot),how many times he’d get you off before he starts counting the times he will. Because he wants to treat you right and the one moment when you admitted a guy had been after getting you to bed and then instantly fled the so-called relationship since he got what he wanted is ingrained in his brain and he’ll do everything in his power to show you that he’s not him. Even if it means blue balls or might result in a supersoldier carpal tunnel issues.

Which gets us to:

A - Alone time (how do they get off when they’re all by themselves? do they watch porn, is it all in their imagination, do they jerk off, do they use toys?)

I’ll start with the last one: nah. There is no way he got his hands on toys in his original time and he was doing just fine and he doesn’t need them now. How would he even get them without half the globe learning about it? No thank you. He’s got hands. Two big hands. If you ever express interest in him using toys on you, he is all game and will get off on watching you squirm and nearly lose your mind to pleasure – which he will try to replicate on his own because dammit he will not have some toy satisfy you better, at least make it a cooperation dammit – but not on himself. Not when alone.

Steve’s a sensual, visual guy. He imagines a lot, but feels rather bad jerking off to a specific person, because it feels rather… invasive and unfair. So his mind conjures images, perhaps a combination of actual memories of voices and visuals (and yes, some inspiration might have come from porn, but he doesn’t downright puts on an adult movie and gets on it, nope), perfumes and scents, images of hands smaller than his on him he can mimic by his own touch and that is what gets him going… and off. If he has the time. He doesn’t have a problem with a quick work in a shower (which often is a solution and I know I share this headcanon with someone, cough cough).

The problem starts when you join. Because A, his need of alone time increases exponentially and B, his mind just. Wouldn’t let go. He’s damn ashamed of it, because you are friends and your friendship is sweet and teasing and maybe there’s a little bit of flirting, and the act itself feels like defiling you, but well, there’s the fact that he would like to defile you. He has so many memories of you filling his senses that get him off, even if they come from workout or from movie night or from perfectly innocent hugs. He feels like a creep and it’s utterly disrespectful to you, but he can’t help it. He tries to relief his conscience by not actively starting with imagining you.

In that sense, it is a real liberation to him when you get together, because he might need a lot of alone time then too before you take your relationship to that level, but at least his conscience is clean even as his mind is filthy.

Speaking of filthy mind… drabble-ish thots ahead.

I - Impact play (here’s where talking about things like spanking, paddles, canes, floggers and the like.) - not me having to google stuff on this

My instant reply was no. NOT STEVE. No violence in any form in the bedroom, not in intimacy. Violence is for battlefield, for missions. For training to a point, and even there he’s careful not to hurt you. When in bed, he might hold you a little too tight, grab a little too harsh, knead and squeeze and maybe suck enough to bruise when you feel just so good and he’s losing himself in you, losing control, but no hitting or slapping or-- nope. He earned the nickname of a Gentle Giant for a reason he might be sensual to a point of filthy, but if he hurt you (even if you asked), he couldn’t look himself in the eye in the mirror.

BUT ALSO.

He’s a handsy man. He does adore drowning all his senses in you, he loves exploring his lover’s body with all he has and he simply loves to touch at all times, feel the softness and warmth and slick, every curve, the thundering of your heartbeat under your skin with his fingertips or lips. To taste you where you let him. Inhale the scent your perfume, your arousal, the heady smell of sex in the air. To listen to the little or not so little noises, swallow them and let them melt on his tongue. To watch.

And that’s when it happens.

He didn’t mean to do it. He did not, and he’s horrified for a split second, because fuck he did not just- You were riding him. A glorious sight, pretty flushed face with slightly love-bitten lips and pupils blown with pleasure, breasts bouncing, muscles straining and little overworked from having mostly earned that previous orgasm on your own besides his lazy strokes over your clit and feeling where you were joined; you stilled for just a moment to get precious air into your lungs, breathy sounds of his name falling from your parted lips, so gorgeously fucked out and still needy for him and he could feel you so close again, his hand spread over your breast, over your hip, gripping and kneading your ass, your thigh and you were almost there, fluttering around him and he wanted one more, sweetheart, gimme one more, wanna feel you and he---

He meant to tap your thigh in encouragement when you started moving again, chasing your peak and it turned out to be more of a full-palm slap over the tempting curve of your ass and it was an accident, Steve would swear it.He froze, his thoughts faster than the reaction of your body, mind already flaring with horror and anxiety by the time your body caught up with what he had done nd had not meant to do and you-

You squeezed his cock so hard he felt it in his throat and he nearly choked, but mainly felt his groin spasm as you lost yourself to pleasure and all it took was a few rapid thrusts into your spasming burning heat and he was done for. Your juices coating his balls. His mouth slanting over yours on instinct even as the keen you released was the single lewdest soundhe had ever coaxed from you and his balls might be empty, but his chest is full of pride and his brain empty of thought but full of question marks, new fantasies and an image of you etched into his memory forever.

Your hips are still jerking minutely on instinct, your face now hidden in his shoulder, chest heaving beautifully against his, his lips kissing anywhere they can reach and holy damn. His hands grow softer, more comforting than exploring, mouth whispering sweet nothings even as they want to ask questions. You’ll tell him; he hopes you will. If there was one thing you were learning fast, it was communication; the last time you failed to communicate on a massive scale about how you felt, you ended up longing and lusting after one another for about two years. He’d rather not wait that long.

But he doesn’t press; in return, you press to him, peek at him shyly and kiss his lips sweetly, climbing off him only to settle in his lap anyway and hug him close, finger drawing non-sensical pattern on his shoulder and back until you both rise and rinse the sweat and other juices off your bodies in a shower together.

Only when in fresh sheets – the previous ones were beyond saving, at least for the night – when held close in his arms, gentle hands mapping out the familiar, and with sleep evading you despite the sleepiness and comfort of each other’s embrace, you confessed.

“I… I think I really liked it because I—I know you’d never hurt me,” you admit softly, earning a thoughtful hum at the half explanation.

“I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t expect that reaction either, but I’d never do it without asking first. You know that, right?”

“I know. That’s what I mean, GG. I trust you…” you remind him softly, even as you teeth worry over your still kiss-swollen lower lip. “But if you… liked it too, you can do it again. Sometime. I… you didn’t mean to do it, I get that, but you let yourself get lost in the moment. With me. You lost- you let go of control a bit… for me. You let go because you feel comfortable enough with me to do that. That means a lot to me. And… you feeling so good with me that you… lose it and take what you need – without hurting me besides a little fading red mark or a tiny bruise – makes me feel pretty damn powerful and proud too. Really wanted and desired… pretty golden.”

The admissions hang heavy in the air, your whole body buzzing with nerves, a little voice in your head sleazily whispering of judgement. Your Gentle Giant, looking at you with disdain, even as what you confessed weren’t all that scandalous. The things you had encountered in your BAU days made this look about as freaky as wearing a little lace. And yet… your body buzzes with nerves and a little thrill and the chances of falling asleep now are precisely zero.

The voice falls silent the second Steve turns you in his arms so you face him and you find him watching you with his smile warm, eyes blown wide and curious – and everything but tired just like you.

“I do trust you too,” he whispers, fingertips brushing your cheekbone, strand of hair from your face, eyes roaming your face until they fall a little lower, as if in shame. Even in the limited light, you can tell his face is burning too. “Where-- I’d always ask, but--- and never with force, I don’t want to hurt you, and never your face, I--- but if I ever… where?”

Your heart thunders in your ribcage. You gulp as with his every word, it leaps into your throat too, your body brimming with nervous energy. But he watches with such genuine curiosity and excitement, the plans no doubt already whirling in his head, the strategist, the planner, the lover, the pleaser… the little shit. Your GG.

Your face is aflame, your hand shakes a little as you take his and it’s both anxiety and arousal, something scalding hot pulsing in your core again, when you lead that hand to set on your bare hip.

His gaze is dead set on yours, watching your reaction; you know he picked up on your quickened breathing, as you guide his hand over the globe of your ass, over your outer thigh, skim over the front to slip on the inside, heading higher, under his hand is cupping your sex.

His gaze is smouldering. You nervously lick your lips, escaping the cage of his gaze because you cannot bear it anymore, a little whisper of shame returning to back of your head, but the moment you look away, his free hand – the other is still touching you – slides under your chin, thumb brushing over your lips. The thumb of his other hand does the same as he slips under your panties and moves to your slick sex and slightly swollen and oversensitive bundle of nerves. Erection poking your thigh. Mouth against yours, whispering.

“Good to know, sweetheart…” Rough. His voice is so rough and husky and his lips are slick and warm and filthy. “Anything for ya’. Love ya so much… got me so hard for you again… the things you do to me, I swear-”

He clearly picked up more than on you just liking just the touch alone; the filthy praise spills from his lips, empowering, and the late night finds you tangled in the sheets once more, languid deep kisses that consume you, the connection forged by a secret revealed, secret shared, whispering between you about next time, even as now is all that matters, all you feel.

Steve is an observant man; he still needs confirmation ahead, but he learns the signs. It’s not something you engage in often, but he recognizes that soft mewly quality to your sighs now, the special glint in your eyes barely even hinting you need it; and he gives. And since he has consent, he lets himself lose control with you a little bit more too.

-.-.-.

Ro, I think I read too many of your wonderful replies to this game that I adopted the manner in which you write them. Ehm. I hope that's okay with you.

Thank you for the ask 💕 It took forever, but it was fun ✨

#reply #asks #anika replies #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #dirty asks #steve rogers x you #captain america x you #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #lemons #lemony lemons

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boingfessions · 10 months ago

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HAPPY OINGO BOINGO DAY EVERYNYAN!!!

I hope everyone has a great time today! Surely more than one person asked themselves a question: What the HELL is Oingo Boingo? Well, the name itself is complete absurdity! But what makes Oingo Boingo Oingo Boingo? Find out in this post under cut!

Our beloved crazy ginger man! Daniel Robert Elfman is an American film composer, singer, songwriter, and musician. Delusional, orange af, joker-like, face with a combination of slasher smile and Kubrick stare, perhaps even had prolonged non-fatal rabies in his time in Oingo Boingo that was only recently cured when the band broke, but unfortunately (or not) returned in recent years. Now his entire body is covered in tattoos and his hair is straight now because of dyeing it to hide his gray hair, ergo his old age. The truth is that he is actually a skeleton disguised as Danny Elfman to pass himself off as living human so that the Grim Reaper don't come after him, but SHHHH!!! I did not tell you anything!

Danny Elfman (lead vocals, rhythm guitar)

Steve Bartek (lead guitar, rhythm vocals)

Fluffy tall boy <3. Steve Bartek is an American guitarist, film composer, conductor, and orchestrator. Elfman's right-hand man and the one he trusts with his skeletons in his closet, oh and his film compositions too of course! One of the few members of the band who was not consumed by it and therefore did not become a feral creature in the process. He plays little guitars because he's a big man, y'know! He usually wore ridiculously short ties along with baggy t-shirts. His guitar solos drove Danny so crazy that he was spinning around and caused him to have back pain to this day, so you know how to blame. Nowadays unfortunately his beautiful dark curls have become gray, but luckily he now looks like an adorable grandpa now! (just like the others)

Kerry Hatch (bass guitar, backing vocals)

A marvelous human being! Kerry Hatch is an American musician... and that's it. Walking diva and Zoolander wannabe, this lad was the band's bassist until 1984, when he decided to join the band "Zuma II" (what the HELL is that band? I have no idea!). A pretty lad who likes to be handsome and play bass guitars that don't even look like bass guitars, I don't know what else I could say about him! Maybe he thought the band wasn't good enough for him and decided to leave to pursue something better, but that's just a guess... if you can consider a landscaping business better!

Richard "Ribbs" Gibbs (keyboards, backing vocals)

Mister mistery~ Richard Gibbs is an American film composer and music producer. Like Kerry, he left the band in 1984 to join Zuma II, and to be honest I don't know what what that band had to make not one but TWO members of Oingo Boingo (the best band in the entire galaxy and even the sixth dimension) have left to be in that band. Anywho, all I have to say about him is that he did well in life, being a composer like Danny and that's it.

Johnny "Vatos" Hernández (drums, percussion)

THIS IS JOHNNY VATOS FROM OINGO BOINGO MAN!!!! He is a drummer with crazy hairstyles who likes to dum ba dum through life. Almost as crazy as Danny was, he stayed loyal to the band even after they broke up (yes, he was in another band called Food for Feet, but I don't give a DAMN!) Years after the band broke up he managed to reunite about four former members and form "Oingo Boingo Former Members", made up of him, Steve Bartek, John Avila, Carl Graves and Sam "Sluggo" Phipps, in addition to new members. Idk about you, but I would like to have him as my grandpa!

Sam "Sluggo" Phipps (saxophone, backing vocals)

Leon Schneiderman (saxophone, backing vocals)

Slam Bam "Sluggo" Phipps is an American saxophone player known for his signature bright, expressive smiles, where he shows off all his teeth and can light up an entire room. The tallest guy in the band and the one who likes to show off his instrument the most, rising it high in the air when attention is focused on him. Well, maybe not so much, but you understand what I mean! Maybe he can be too expressive and noisy, but we still love him ❤️

Dale Turner (trumpet, backing vocals)

Do you remember when I said that Sluggo had the brightest smile in the world? Well, I lied! That one goes to our dear Leon Schneiderman, the other saxophonist in the band. He could do anything in the whole world, even his own instruments! Being a childhood friend of Danny's, it can be said that he has been in the band every moment since it started, even longer than Danny himself! Don't you love him and his smiles?

John Avila (bass guitar, backing vocals)

Our beloved grandpa-mom. He is an American trumpet player who entered The Mystic Knights after they let him audition after seeing him practice in secret. He makes sure to keep an eye on the other guys in the band and can (if he hasn't already) spank them to make them behave (except for Sluggo; NOBODY spanks Sluggo). Even if he is the shortest member of the band along with John Avila, that doesn't make him any less authoritative, being around ten years older than the rest of the band. He is silent like a mouse and has never been heard to speak, perhaps because he is reserved or has nothing to say. He left the band and is currently enjoying his life privately, and I really hope he's okay!

HE IS MY BABY, MY CUTIE PIE, MY PUPPY, MY LOVE, MY LIFE, THE BEST BOY IN THE WHOLE WORLD!!!!!!!!! RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

Ahem, sorry about that... John Avila is an American bassist and music producer. A literal human puppy and the shortest member of the band. He looks like you could pick him up in your arms and cradle him like a baby... Sorry, I'm off topic again! What do you want me to do? He's simply adorable! (At least for me). Anywho, Although he appears in the Gratitude MV, it was not until 6 months after the release of the album So-Lo that he joined the band along with Michael Bacich, being the new bassist and keyboardist respectively. He is usually hyperactive and you can see him at concerts jumping, spinning and playing his bass like a pro. The strange thing is that, even though the years go by and he obviously ages, he still seems to be the same mischievous and playful puppy-like guy... Okay, sorry again!

Michael Bacich (keyboards, backing vocals)

Quiet nerdy boy. He's was the keyboardist of the band since 1985 until 1988. Yes, he didn't stay for a long time, but his presence in the band is still important as he was present in the band's best era (Dead Man's Party). He looks like the typical nerd who would say "actually☝️🤓" and give you information that you didn't even ask for but still decided to give you to expand your zero knowledge. He also looks kinda shy and like someone who Danny would bully if the band were in a cliché teen movie. Like Dale, he decided to move on with his life after leaving the band, which it's okay after all.

I ran out of space for more images! Don't worry, I'll reblog this post right away talking about the rest of the band (which are only two members but still!). Thank you very much for reading this far and HAPPY BOINGO DAY TO ALL OF YOU AGAIN!!!

#oingo boingo #not a confession #danny elfman #steve bartek #kerry hatch #richard gibbs #johnny vatos #sam phipps #sam sluggo phipps #leon schneiderman #dale turner #john avila #michael bacich #carl graves #warren fitzgerald

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mrsjavierp · 1 year ago

Text

Where you belong?

Chapter 8 - Fill the Void

Javier Peña x latin!f!reader

Summary: Running away from life as you always knew to start a new position as Head Chief on a DEA Office, far away, on Colombia. There, you'll face violence, as you never thought you could. There, you'll meet Javier Peña, your stubborn agent...

Warnings (to the whole fic): +18!, angst, smut, cheating, last relationships, drug dealing - Narcos Universe (not so accurate), bad spanish, english is my second language, use of Y/N and Y/LN. No physical description of the reader, only your clothes (sometimes). The POVs are shifting between reader (first person and Narrator - 3rd person)

(If I forgot anything, tell me, pls!)

Word Count: 4k

A/N: Thanks for your feedback, hope you enjoy this chapter! Hope to hear from you all soon! I'm also working on two stories (one shots) to our beloved Joel Miller and our corny cowboy Agent Whiskey

***

Narrator’s POV:

Arriving at the CNP headquarters, Steve, Javier and you get there almost at the same time.

The tension between you and Javier was noticeable. Steve knew better than asking either of you: he wanted to live to see his girls again… And to catch Escobar.

When you locked the door in your office, the tears started appearing.

You lied to Javier about not remembering breakfast: you hoped he lied about it too. You actually couldn't recall talking about Ben.

Fuck, was a name you didn't think in a very long time…

Especially after meeting Javi.

Is Javi that full of himself to say that to me? What did he mean by that? What did I tell him? And most important: what he really knew about Ben? - You thought.

On the other side of the door, Javier’s mind was racing, trying not to act by impulse. But he decided to call a friend in NYC, who could tell him all he wanted about your history with your ex. He needed to understand why you were so worked up, why that bothered so badly.

However, he didn’t want Steve to suspect anything. Luckly, they got a tip about La Quica again, that he was buying a toilet... The same one that was on La Catedral and heading to the hills on San Isidro road.

When Steve went to speak to Jacoby, to fly Centra Spike over that location, Peña took the shot and called Joe:

“Hey, Joe!” - he greeted him.

“Took you long enough, Javi, you bastard!”

“Well, I tried to avoid long distance calls, you know I hate them.”

“Oh, so the rumors are true, you left your wife in Texas?”

“I did... Better for her and little Lucas, you know…” - he was looking over his shoulder, but no one seemed to be paying attention to him.

“So, how is Y/LN on the colombian field?”

“So far so good, man. She's a good cop…”

“She was one of the best here… But I’m betting my chips that it is not about her resume you called, you want the dirty, am I right?”

Javier laughed.

“You fucking bastard, I knew it!”

“So, what you’ve got about her and her ex?” - Peña asked.

“Peña, that was a huge mess… He was already working here for a while and, months later, she arrived from the NYPD through the front door and found by herself a lead to a prostitution scheme… It was so big that it was a closed door OP, top secret stuff, it was only her, me, our boss and another couple of guys. The operation involved high-class prostitutes, working for high profile narcos. Ben heard the rumors about the OP and tried to sweet talk her to join it… But you know how she is with her work… Things do not mix at all.”

“Oh, I know…” - Javi sighed.

“Yep, so you know the deal... At first, it was just an evil comment here and there. I don’t know if she heard it, she trusted him, she was going to marry him. We were working our asses off, long and crazy hours. He took advantage and lied to her. He got sloppy and the rumors continued to grow... But I still don't know what she knew. Anyway, his luck didn’t last long: we were about to bust a brothel on the night that the narcos were there. Guess who was in one of those filthy beds?”

“No way…” - Javier closed his eyes, incapable of believing it.

“Yep. She found out on the job. Didn't help when she also discovered that he was trying to trade inside info with criminals.”

“Fuck, he was a dirty cop?”

“Yep. Luckily, she was too up-tight with all of her work. Not only was she as clean as a whistle, she got promoted to Colombia.”

“I can't believe it. Fuck...”

“Like a motherfucking movie, am I right?”

“Thanks for telling me. I can understand her behavior now…”

“She's one of the best cops I've ever got to work, Peña. She didn't deserve that.”

“I believe you. Well, thanks, man. Call if you need anything.”

Peña hung up the phone, if he was a mess before, now he was a wreck. The same questions were going through his mind again: How is he going to keep Lorraine away? How will he manage his boy's custody? How is he divorcing her and keep you in the dark, until the process is over?

A couple hours later, the tip to Centra Spike worked: a conversation between another sicario, Velasco, and his lover is recorded.

You, Steve, Javier, Centra Spike, Mili Group and CIA reunited to see area’s maps:

"Well, we can discard the smaller ones... Not Escobar's style." - Steve pointed out.

"Which one of these has at least 2 roads of access?" - you ask.

"This one, Y/LN." - Jones, from the CIA, responded.

"This is your winner, niños." - you draw a circle, indicating it.

"Y/LN, what about Pinzón? We're gonna need men, equipment, cars..." - Javier commented.

"Leave Pinzón to me, Peña." - you responded.

You went back to his office, but he refused.

"¡Cabrón!" - you thought.

You went back to yours, but in the way, Steve talked to you:

"Jefe, any luck?"

"Not yet... But let me handle it. He doesn't know who he's dealing with." - the boys looked at each other, curious.

You called Crosby, Crosby called Gaviria and… Let's wrap it up: about 15 minutes later, you all were preparing to bust Escobar.

All the efforts for nothing, unfortunately: Escobar escaped through your fingers, again.

Escobar, however, made a career fooling and killing police officers, what he thought was going to a truce about to happen turned into a fuse to another battle, which made him even more dangerous.

Days later, you all were right as the skies were blue: another attack came.

Escobar's sicarios killed a bunch of Pinzón's men all around Medellín…

Pinzón chose to resign - it was the last drop to his sanity. He wanted personal peace more than to defend his country… How would someone judge him?

Escobar killed more than four hundred cops a year - although it was a risk, it had no garanties on being alive and no one could fulfill any expectations to actually get it done.

Days passed by and President Gaviria decided to bring Coronel Carrillo back from Spain, as soon as he could.

The first thing Carrillo did was talk to you, since Peña and Steve weren't alone anymore:

“So, Y/LN… You're the boss now. I hope that we can work together at the same pace.” - Carrillo smiled at you.

“Well, I can't say anything about style, but we sure make a hell of a team. I'm saying the same thing as I said to Peña and Murphy: I'm also a field agent… Don't let the high hills fool you.”

He smirked.

“Vamos, Y/LN. I've got to say hi to an old friend…”

****

Carrillo decided to put up a show: tell in grand style about who's back in town. The actual goal was putting Escobar's partners on the map, by transmission. So Carrillo would stick his nose out and so would Escobar.

He lets you, Javier and Steve mapping Escobar's spies.

About a couple hours later, he came back and you and your inside team did the best you all could to track them all.

“We captured six radio transmissions.” - Jacoby informed. - “But we haven't pinpointed the exact location.”

“So our best bet is to corner each of these buildings. This time, we hit the ground.” - you said.

Carrillo ordered his soldier, Trujillo, to send 6 unmarked cars with 4 men each, to observe the buildings, with 20 minute-intervals to avoid attention.

After that, he called Peña to join him.

“Be careful out there.” - you warn them.

Minutes later, when you and Steve are alone, you ask:

“Steve, is he always like that? Taking Peña up and down?”

“Sometimes, Jefe… He probably just wants an update to what happened from someone he trusts… He doesn't know you yet, it's his way.“ - Steve told me.

You'd show Carrillo who you really were: a woman younger than all three (Steve, Peña and himself) whose balls were bigger.

***

Peña, Trujillo, Carrillo and other officers captured 6 of the boys who were working for Escobar.

They took them to a hidden alley, on Bairro Escobar.

They are on their knees, scared. Well, 5 of them, at least.

“Do you know who I am?” - Carrillo started. - “My name is Coronel Horacio Carrillo. Last week, 30 police officers were murdered.”

“Those pigs probably deserved it.” - one of them said.

“Shut up, kid.” - Javier murmured.

“Many of them were my friends. A person perched on rooftops guiding murders with radios are assassins themselves… I hope after this encounter you'll reconsider working with someone who thinks he's above the law.”

Although Javier knew Carrillo was right, something felt off. Wrong.

At the same time, Carrillo cocked his pistol.

“What?” - another boy provoked. He was no more than fifteen, brown skin. - “Am I supposed to shit my pants in fear?”

Javier's stomach ached badly. It's been a while since he was afraid of something.

“No.” - Carrillo responded, shaking his head. He pointed the gun and shot, with no hesitation.

His body just fell on the floor, like it was nothing.

“Am I making myself clear? I want you to tell your friends that this is what happens when you work for Pablo Escobar!” - he shouted.

Carrillo analyzed the boys and chose one: the youngest, probably no more than 7 years old. The boy was crying, in silence.

He bent down, looked deeply in his eyes and handed him a bullet.

“Take it.” - the little boy obeyed. - “Tell them this is for Pablo.”

Carrillo stood up again, as if nothing happened.

“Remember what you saw… And know what will happen to you if I see you on a rooftop. You can leave. Now!”

The five boys ran as if their lives depended on it.

Javier couldn't move. He felt like throwing up. He looked at Carrillo, as if he asked something.

Carrillo’s expression was cold and distant.

They all drove back to CNP in silence.

When they arrived back, Steve met Javi on his way out.

“Javi, where are the fucking spotters?” - Steve asked, anxious.

“Carrillo went a different way… He, uh… He cut them loose.” - Javier responded, screeching his head, tense. How the hell is he going to tell what happened?

“Oh, we're letting people go, now? I bet Y/LN will be pissed AF…”

Javi rolled his eyes and, lighting up a cigarette, said:

“Yeah, Murphy, we're letting people go.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Don’t worry about it, man.” - Javier opened the door of his truck. He needed to leave as fast as he could. He needed a hug. He needed to feel human again.

“Hey, fucking talk to me!” - Steve demanded, interrupting the friend.

“Let go my fucking arm.”

“What the fuck happened?!” - Steve continued to bother Javier.

Javier sighted and responded:

“Carrillo put a gun to the kid's head and pulled the trigger… To make a fucking point.”

Steve swallowed hard.

“We good now?” - Javier mocked, entered his car and headed to the apartment complex where you all lived.

***

About late at night, you hear fervorous knocks at your door.

You were awake, since you just got home.

You pick up your gun and open the door, without noticing that you were only wearing a thin long gray dress, showing your curves.

It was Javier, looking like shit with a bottle of whiskey and a cigar in hand.

“Let me in, please, cariño.” - his brown eyes were almost black. Sad and big.

You put down the gun and let him in.

“Peña, you look like shit… What happened?” - you asked, as you both sat down on your couch and he served whiskey to both of you and put the cigar in the astray.

“Salut, cariño.” - he raised his glass.

You raised as well, drank it up and put away the glass.

“Damn, Peña. That's good stuff… You didn't answer me. What happened?” - you uttered. You knew something bad had happened. The cigar, the good whiskey, his painful expression…

“Cariño, I… I don't know how to say it.”

“Start from the beginning, Javi… I'm right here.” - you suggested, softly.

You were genuinely concerned for him.

He kissed your lips, softly, by surprise.

You stop after a few minutes, reaching out for air. Your apartment felt like a thousand degrees. Your body was sweating, the adrenaline was running through your veins. But, again, you’d deny even from yourself.

“Javi…” - he already knew what you're going to say and he doesn't want to hear it again.

“Cariño, please don't. Not now. I need to forget about today's route.”

“Okay, baby boy.” - you sat on his lap and kissed him deeply. He melted under your lips, his hands touching your body, hungry.

You only needed an excuse to be with him again.

Just one more night… - you thought.

If you were wearing pants, they'd be on fire.

“Cariño, just a heads up…” - he started.

You looked at him, confused, waiting for the rest.

“I won’t be gentle. Right now, I can't. I'm really not capable… Are you okay with it?”

You continued on his lap, but now, you put your knees on each side of his body and he involved his arms around you. Even wearing clothes, the electricity was passing through both of you.

“Show me your worst, Peña… I dare you.” - you whisper.

He smiled, but his eyes darkened with lust.

Javier literally ripped your dress, revealing your skin.

“Hey! Are you fucking crazy, Javi?” - you yell at him. - “I’m gonna fucking…” - you didn't finish, as he slapped your cheek, not enough to hurt you, he never would, but enough to surprise you and make you shut up.

“You don't speak until you're spoken to, babygirl. You don't come until I say so. You won’t do anything without me saying. If you behave like a good girl, I may let you cum. If not, I'm gonna punish you. Understood?”

You shook your head positively, incapable of believing in what was happening.

He slapped your ass, bringing you back.

“Words, cariño.”

“Yes, I understood it.” - you responded, in a low voice.

Who was that man on Javier's body and where he was the first night we were fucked? - you thought.

“Good girl, cariño…” - he touched your body, started at your neck and went down to your waist. - “Now, how do I begin? I've got so many options, so many possibilities… I know we only had sex one time, one night, but I feel like I know your body really well, cariño.”

You looked at him, anxious, waiting.

He picked you up in his arms and took you to your bed.

“Now, we're ruining your bed, cariño.”

He ripped your panties and, with no warning, kissed your mound. You relaxed as he kissed slowly for a bit.

He got up, leaving you clenching over nothing.

He began to take off his suit and tie, your eyes hungry for him, mouth watering.

“What do you want, cariño?” - he asked, eyes locked up with yours.

“Can I help you undress, Javi?”

“Such a polite girl… Yeah, you can.”

You took off his tie, letting it rest on the bed. Helped him with the buttons on his shirt, holding back the urge to rip them as he did with your dress.

He took off his shoes and socks and you unbuckled his belt, letting it side with the tie… You had a dirty idea, but it would have to wait a bit.

At last, his pants went down with his boxers.

He was deciding on what to do, but you couldn't wait. Your hand touched his lower belly, aiming for his dick.

“Oh, cariño, you want to use your mouth, now? Wanna please me?”

“Yes, Javi.”

“Beg for it.” - he said in that condescending tone you hated.

“Javi, please, let me suck your dick.” - you coo.

He caressed your cheek with one hand and the other held his shaft.

“I don't think you want it enough, cariño.” - and he slowly started going up and down his length. He had a stupid cocky smile on his face.

“You know I can be better than your hand, Javi… Please, let me touch you, I'm begging you…” - your voice barely was a whisper into your room.

“Go ahead, cariño… But don't be greedy. I don't wanna come right now.”

Your lips wrapped around his tip, while he held your head. Your tongue and lips worked up and down, while one of your hands cupped his balls.

“Fuck, cariño… I knew you were missing me, but didn't know you were so hungry for my cock.”

He grabbed your hair, setting the rhythm, until you couldn't stand only worth your knees on the bed, needing to claw at his tights, and your nose almost touching his pelvis.

He was fucking your throat and you were so wet.

His mouth was making obscene sounds, saying how good you're doing, how badly he missed you and your beautiful lips.

He slowed down the rhythm, until he stopped, taking it off your mouth. His dick was aching for more, but he wanted to come inside of you.

“You did good, cariño. Can you continue to be a good girl for me?”

“Yeah, Javi.” - you responded. Your legs were trembling, your pussy throbbing for attention.

“Lay down and open your legs for me… Yes, just like that. Tell me, where did you leave your vibrator?”

“In the bathroom, the second drawer.”

“Don't move.”

He picked it up and examined it, curious about the pink wand in his hand.

“So, you've been touching yourself in the bathroom? Door closed? Biting your lips or a towel to not make any noise?”

You don't respond to it, you’re just running away from his glaze.

He slapped your ass again.

“Look at me while I talk to you.” - he demanded. - “Answer me!”

“Y-y-yeah, Javi. I was doing it in the bathroom, biting a towel.” - you murmured.

“Now, you're gonna show me what you've been denying from me to hear, such as in person as through these walls… But don't come. Not until I say so.” - and handed you the vibrator.

“But Javi, I can't control myself when I use it…”

He smiled, the same sly smile you knew and hated.

“That's not my problem. You come when I say it.” - he was being ruthless towards you.

With your right hand shaking, you started to use your wand on the softest mode, as you were so aroused since it all started.

Your room was filled with vibration sounds and your moans. Your eyes looking at his figure, wishing he’d do something to you instead.

You were also a hundred percent sure Javier was punishing you somehow. He wanted to prove himself again.

Javier, on the other hand, was admiring you. The way your pupils were dilated, your body was shaking, your smooth skin chilling, your beautiful pussy soaking wet… If he could, he'd take a picture just to eternalize that moment.

“O-o-oh fuck, Javi… I can't take it anymore… I'm so close, please, let me come!” - you beg.

He smirked at you.

“Oh, cariño, you're close?” - he leaned towards you, as if he was going to enter at your pussy. It only made it worse and closer, as you could almost feel his scent and his warm skin.

“Holyfuck, Javi, please! Please let me!” - you beg, desperately.

He grabbed his belt, tied your wrists together, holding your vibrator in your clitoris. After, he shoved his dick inside of you.

“Go ahead, cariño. Come for me and on me.” - he ordered.

You thank God he said that. You squealed his name high, releasing all of your juices onto him.

You were positively sure you woke up your neighbors.

“Oh, fuck! So good for me, cariño.” - Javier praised you.

He continued without any pity towards you, pounding hard inside you.

Not only you’re embarrassingly wet, you were so overstimulated that the orgasm was knocking at your pussy again, so fast

“I love when you yell my name, cariño!” - he said, full of bliss.

“Javier, for god's sake!” - you yell again.

“¡Mierda! Cariño, are you close again?” - he asked with a devilish tone. - “What a delicious greedy pussy, missing me so much… Oh, fuck!”

Tears began to go down your face. It was impossible to hold anything more and, without his permission, you came again, your body shaking vigorously.

“Holy fuck, Y/N!” - It was his time to yell your name as loud as he could. - “I can... I can feel... You're so fucking tight, you're gonna rip my dick off!"

He untied you and turned off your wand. It relieved you for a bit, but he laid on top of you and chased his own orgasm.

After he came, you both lay next to each other, gasping for air, eyes locked up to each other.

“I missed you so much, Javi…” - you reveal.

He smiled, happy. His hand went to your cheek, fondling.

“Yo también te extrañe, cariño. You have no idea…” (I missed you too.)

“I think I do, Javi… Te extrañe todos los malditos días desde la primera noche.” (I missed you all those damn days, since the first night.)

“Gracias a Díos, cariño. I thought I was alone in this mess.” (Thanks God.)

You laughed together.

“You can't pretend that you don't want to be with me anymore, cariño. I'm serious.” - he declared.

You sighed.

“I know, Javi… But we also know it's not that simple… We work together, I'm your boss, Escobar is on the run…”

“We can take it slow, we don't have to do anything you don't feel like it. But don't push me away again.” - Javier begged you.

“I really don't know how to, Javi. I don't know how to. I haven't dated since…” - you didn't finish.

His eyes were soft and warm, like cocoa on a winter night. Your heart felt like an ice cube on the sun, again.

“Since your ex, Ben?” - he asked.

“Yep.” - you responded, popping the “p”. - “‘It’s not gonna be easy for you, so I’d like to warn you: if you have anything to tell me, tell me as soon as possible. I’m not gonna demand you to do it now, but think if you have anything to tell me, and if you do, you can.”

“First, we need to get to know each other. Build trust and I’m not talking about the field. Let’s get to know each other, talk, laugh, have sex, grab a bite. We’re neighbors, we don’t even need to leave our apartments if you don’t want to.”

“No one can know about us, Javier Jesus Peña. Not even Murphy.”

“Don’t worry about it, cariño.” - he pecked your lips softly.

“And please, don’t sleep with anyone else and it includes your informants.” - you rolled your eyes. - “I know, it’s stupid since we’re not in a relationship, but if you want to do it, please, just end this… this thing we’re about to begin. I’m not saying that again.”

“Cariño, for God’s sake!” - Javier laughed, his hand left your face to your waist. - “No one ever made me feel this way.” - you laughed. - “I’m serious, hermosa. Don’t worry about it.”

You breathe out heavily.

“Well, let’s see how it goes.” - you say, still not allowing your heart to sink further. - “We need a shower, Javi. Care to join me?”

He smiled and you both entered your bathroom... But Javier's mind didn't care for sleeping. He still needed to punish you for coming without his permission, while you were filling the bathtub, distracted.

"Of course, cariño... Besides, you haven't exactly been a good girl for me for a few days. Don't think I'll let you escape that easily."

Your eyes went to his naked figure, surprised.

"Oh, I thought I was off the hook..."

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timeofjuly · 9 months ago

Text

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you so much for the tag @floofanflurr <3 I am always happy to yap about my fics! I'll pop this below the cut 'cause it's kinda long.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Eight under the timeofjuly account, and a few others scattered around other usernames and the anonymous collection.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 124,470 words, which is kinda crazy to look back on since I only started in August of last year.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Just Undertale at the moment, but I've written for a few other fandoms in the past.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Resisting the Current

Trick or Heat

Wishbone

Parallel Circuits

And Four Papyri in a Pear Tree

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! Always, though it sometimes takes me a little to get around to it. My favourite thing about writing fanfic is the sense of community that you build, so I love getting to chat about the fic in the comments. I always have a million and one thoughts that didn't make it to the page that I'm desperate to share. I also like to say thank you when people go out of their way to comment, because I really appreciate it. As a reader, I know I get super excited when an author replies to my comments.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I'm going to go with a few of the RtC 'verse oneshots for this. I think Resolutions from Parallel Circuits ends on a pretty angsty note, particularly compared to the seemingly upbeat start. From Silver String, there will be no answer is pretty bleak and so is on my way home. I'm quite proud of how they both end, actually - I think they're my two strongest endings in the lot.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Any of the smut, probably? They're all set in happy established relationships and end on a cutesy note.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not for a very long time, no! I remember, many many years ago, posting my very first fic on fanfic.net lol and getting a very nasty review about how the reader didn't know the main pairing in the fic was m/m (slash back then, what a blast from the past) even though it was very clearly indicated in the summary and the AN at the start. It goes to show people have been bad at curating their own reading experiences by minding the tags and summaries since forever.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yep! Mostly established relationship stuff under this username so far.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I'm not super into cross-universe crossovers, but, same as @floofanflurr, I really like playing around with cross fic crossovers. I'm (slowly) writing a crack dialogue-only oneshot where the reader inserts of Wishbone and RtC are stuck together in a broken elevator lol. It's been a fun challenge! It's very very hard to put two characters who are normally referred to in the second person in the same scene, lemme tell you, which is why I ended up choosing to go dialogue only.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think so.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have not, but I'd be open to it!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nothing that I've posted! @marty-parties and I have been messing around with an underfell papyrus/reader fic, though! I also used to rp all the time, which I'd count as cowriting. I miss it very much, even though I used to get super easily overwhelmed by it.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

This is such a tough question. I'll pretty much read anything if I vibe with the ship dynamics (pining and unrequited love my beloved, I will read you anywhere no matter the ship or fandom), but I went through my bookmarks to actually get the stats on this. I used to be super into the mcu (I completely lost interest after endgame) so tony/steve and tony/steve/bucky were the most common ships. I have no clue what my favourite ship would be now, though.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Never say never, but I really want to write this horrortale isekai fic I've had bouncing around in my brain. I've fully plotted it out and it's set to only be five chapters, but I'm really struggling to actually write the thing. I have started it, though, so we'll see.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Characterisation, I think. And even though I mostly gravitate towards writing angsty stuff, I think humour and comedic timing is a strength of mine too.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Physical description and settings, 100%. I don't really picture anything in my head when I write, which means all that physical description doesn't make its way onto the page, and when it does, I'm just going off vibes. Particularly with setting - I have zero idea what the locations in any of my fics look like lol. Like, the house in RtC? No clue. Zero.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Really cool! I love it when people do this and I get to translate it, it's like a nice surprise.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter, I think? It's all scrubbed from the internet now though.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Wishbone. I am so attached to the Second Mage and Sans and Rus, you have no idea. Particularly Flint, I just adore them. Don't get me wrong, I love the electrician and Quinn and all of my ocs, but I have a special place in my heart for reader inserts who are nasty and hurting and lash out and aren't always the kind, considerate, emotionally stable person in the relationship, forever supporting others. I read something years ago that said to consider how your character is inclined to react to things, both good and bad, and how for lots of people, it's not in our nature to instinctively respond to things with kindness and openness. In fiction, we often expect our POV characters to deal with situations with emotional maturity that we ourselves, along with the majority of irl people, don't have. I think this rings true even more for reader inserts. It's fun to flip this on its head in Wishbone - what if instead of acting with an uncommon kindness, you do the opposite? You get to be flawed. You get to have the murky motives. You get to hurt and in turn you hurt others, and that hurting has real consequences on you and the people around you. This is also a great way to create angst lol - in the non-fell version of Wishbone, where everyone is generally just less of an asshole and therefore makes kinder choices, a lot of the events in the fic just wouldn't happen.

No pressure tag to @covfefeships and anyone else who'd like to do this!

#thank you for the tag!!!

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lizziefox · 3 months ago

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Mystery Kids as the Hashira from Demon Slayer!

I was brainstorming about different ideas and I thought of this and how fun the scenarios could be. So I might do it once I get a better grasp on the story of Demon Slayer as well as the characters. I know each character’s backstories but I’d rather know more about the world building before I write an au or crossover.

Anyways, on to the topic of why exactly you clicked on this post;

Gyomei (The Stone Hashira):

Now this one is a tough one to start with. There’s not very many characters from my AU of Mystery Kids that are like him. But if you guys have any ideas or suggestions let me know!

(I do love Gyomei however which is why I hate leaving him without a counterpart.)

Tengen (The Sound Hashira):

This one is difficult too but a lot easier than Gyomei. I’d nominate Eddie Munson first lacking any better options then I’d consider Steve Harrington or literally any other remotely flirty character.

Regardless, I’m open to suggestions for him as well!

Kyojuro (The Flame Hashira):

Rengoku is a force of nature. He gets put through the wringer and he just keeps on going. I love him for that and even more after Mugen Train. He’s eternally optimistic and you don’t see that a lot in any characters really. Which is why his spot as the Flame Hashira in my opinion would be given to none other than Enid Sinclair.

She’s very similar to him in her ideals and how she sees the world. She’s also an incredible fighter when she needs to be and when it matters most.

Sanemi (The Wind Hashira):

I know Sanemi gets a lot of flack for being extremely violently over the top towards Nezuko in the beginning and towards everyone else. But I honestly understand why he is the way he is. He lost people that were important to him and he’s in a profession fighting the very things that took those people away.

I think his widespread dislike among the fandom is why I’d give a more beloved character his spot. So his spot would go to Wednesday Addams.

Giyu (The Water Hashira):

I adore Giyu! He has a character trope you often see portrayed in differing types of media. He blames himself for tragic things out of his control. Which is why there are so many good options for him! I considered Dipper Pines, Bill Denbrough, or Mike Wheeler.

Let me know who you think would be the best option!

Mitsuri (The Love Hashira):

I think a lot of people misinterpret Mitsuri. Most viewers’ first impressions of her are that she’s boy crazy. Which is a common occurance with Mabel Pines as well (even though Mabel actually is for the majority of the story). Despite this, I think she’d be perfect for the role given her character development.

And also, the aesthetics totally match up.

Muichiro (The Mist Hashira):

First off, he’s my favorite so I’m going to gush about him as much as I can without sobbing. Before he gets to know Tanjiro, he’s disconnected from himself and his past. But as he and Tanjiro learn from one another, his memories are reintroduced to him and he slowly becomes himself again. I understand both perspectives in this arc which is why I’d give Norman Babcock this position.

They not only share an MBTI type but also similar demeanors and ideals. They’re both very kind hearted, seemingly harsh on the outside and enjoy being around certain people rather than large groups. It’s a perfect fit!

Obanai (The Snake Hashira):

(MARRY ME OBANAI) Who said that? Anywho, this man is scary but secretly gentle. He’s been through way too much for one person to handle. Despite this, he is still motivated to pursue his career and interest in Mitsuri. While he is scary, I think he should be given a less scary character to take his place. This would be either Klaus Baudelaire or Stanley Uris.

Those options are really funny in hindsight because I also fell for those two. But they are very similar. They often close themselves off and try to solve problems on their own which often gets them into trouble. So I think either of them would be a good fit as the Snake Hashira.

Shinobu (The Insect Hashira):

(Everybody make some noise for the one, the only-SHINOBU KOCHO!!! Aka my second favorite!!) Now, as a Laika kid by nature and by heart I’d have to give her spot to Coraline. Nobody truly matches the position quite like she does. She doesn’t let anyone define her worth let alone manipulate her.

And while most people believe Shinobu to be quite smart, she was much of an airhead before the events of the series and Coraline isn’t entirely bright either. Neither of them are stupid by any means but I believe it’s a common phase in people who grow stronger in intelligence and bravery over time.

I hope you enjoyed my ramblings on this very niche AU I came up with on the fly. Let me know your thoughts in the comments! Much love and many blessings,

BloomingSkeletons

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xshimaeraxx · 7 months ago

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I've seen many posts about people missing how common asks used to be so I have been trying to send about an ask a week. Now I send this ask first anytime I follow someone as I really don't want to bother anyone, so I'd love to know if you enjoy receiving asks and if so what kind of asks. Not having energy for asks or being comfortable with them is perfectly okay.

The categories I have in my ask notebook that I file under are in colour. Please feel free to make your response as long as you want or private (the asker cannot directly respond to private responses).

Self, Job/Work: please let me know what you are comfortable with from eh idk just ask it to nothing personal at all.

Baggishield/Tolkien, Dragon Age, Johnlock/Sherlock, ineffable spouses, other fandom: Please let me know what fandoms. I think my main fandoms and ships are Bagginshield/The Hobbit, Sherlock/Johnlock, Dragon Age Inquisition, {Pippin/Faramir Merry/Eowyn}/The Lord of the Rings and I dip my toes in a few that I currently can't remember but ships I don't engage with the canon of at all are: Good Omens but only for Crowley/Azirapheal, Stranger Things but only for Steve/Eddie , The Witcher but only for Geralt/Jaskier, and Ladybug and Cat Noir but only for Adrinette .

OC's, art/drawing, their writing, blog specific only

Story snippets ideas and prompts: Do you like receiving them?

Pets: I'd love to know all about them

Garden and Hobbies: What type of gardening and/or hobbies?

Like being tagged in things: If so what kinds of things?

*Asks are sent for fun, no pressure to answer.

hello!!! yeah, i love receiving asks, lmao, & as for ur questions:

self, job/work: hmmm. im not rly comfy w any major questions ab my irl life (like stuff along the lines of “where specifically t do you live” (like im a brit, but if somewhere were to ask js where i live in the uk, i wldnt answer, as is common sense (imo) when it comes to the internet), “how old are you” “what is (are) your irl name(s)” etc. etc. - identifying stuff, basically), tho anythin’ else is pretty much on the table rn.

fandoms: oh, fandoms my beloved. my main fandoms atm (for both reading & writing, tho some r only reading while some r only writing, etc. etc.) are cuphead (i have way too much worldbuilding for this one au of mine that branches off into so many aus of the au, its genuinely gettin a lil crazy /pos /lh; i write fic for this one, aswell- in fact, its kinda my main writing-for fandom atm ^^), the hobbit (bagginshield my beloved i love you shjshsjehejs - i also dable vaguely in lotr (mainly gimli/legolas + parentshield tbh lmao) but its mostly js the hobbit for me), good omens (i love the ineffables i love s1 & s2 & HSJSHSJSHSJ i js love it like. all around. fuck gaimon tho, death of the author tyvmm), my hero academia/boku no hero academia (i dont engage w fandom much other then a few fanfic writers’ blogs here on tumblr & ao3 fanfic lmao XD; love the anime tho), harry potter (FUCK jkr, speaking as a brit myself none of us claim her, the transphobes can have her, we dont want her /lh - love the (good parts of) fanbase tho. ive actually made some rly good fic-writer friends thru it over on discord lmao), & ofc rise of the guardians!!! (fuckin love that thing, so sad there was never a second move :sadblob: love playin around w fanon/fandom lore tho, & i LOVE jackrabbit (bunnymund/jack) its my main ship in the fandom, tho im a multishipper so im also kinda partial to some other ones ofc)

ocs, art/drawing, writing, blog specific: not entirely sure what this one’s asking/if its actually a question, but imma answer it any lolol XD. anygays - ocs: i have a few cuphead ocs, but none of ‘em r self-inserts & all only rly exist bc of/for/to enhance/move forward the plot of my (main) cuphead au, tho ofc theyre still ocs - love ‘em like my children even if i dont love ‘em as much as i do the canon characters, snirk. art/drawing: i do draw, tho i rarely post any of my art, and one or two times i have its usually bc im js proud enough of it to want to share it, ehehe. writing: i write. so much fanfic. none of its posted, but i have so many wips i frankly dont know when any one of ‘em will be, sooo… shrug. blog specific: my blog isnt rly “specific”; its more js a place for me to enage w cool art & fics & such & reblog stuff i like on here as well as probably self-promo my own fics & such, as well as js a place to put my random ramblings in XD.

story snippets & prompts: oh, i love ‘em!! always nice 2 get a new burst of writing motivation ::D

pets: ohhh, cats. i love cats. had one for a while for around a good two years or so but after he injured his paw & we had 2 keep him inside for 3 weeks straight, the flightly lil bugger’s runaway. he (might’ve; still don’t know for sure whether it rly was him or not, but he apparently responded to his name from my mother’s accounts, so :shrug:) came back in the middle of the night a week or so ago now, but idtk whether he’s dead, alive, or js been taken in by some other family who thinks he’s a stray. :sigh:

gardening & hobbies: i don’t garden, and as for hobbies… not much, rly. i like writing fic, i like reading, i like going on (short, i have shite stamina) walks every other day or so, i like talkin w my few friends. like i said, not much. ::)

like being tagged in things: yes, i do! and as for what… anything, rly! tag games, fic wip games, askbox/ask games, im good w ‘em all! ::D

thx for the ask; have a good day/night/timezone!! ::>

#x’s askbox #answered asks #screaming incoherently into the void of tumblr #fandoms

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nagdabbit · 1 year ago

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This isn't a prompt or a request, but hear me out Dags. What if you remixed Lamp Bright Rind but made it wrestlefic? Who would you cast, what would you change, what would you keep? Consider it a thought experiment

don't do this to me, don't you dare do this to me. shit. fuck. balls

like. for those not coming from the st fandom, i once enjoyed the show and fandom and wrote a massive harringrove fic where billy was a disgraced chef trying to reinvent himself, and steve was a corporate lawyer trying to get out from under his family's shadow and do as much good as he could. they live across from each other, they can see into each others kitchen windows, steve cant cook and shows up unannounced to get cooking lessons, and it's cute as shit from there. there's misunderstandings, there's mistaken identities, there's healing from trauma and growing up and not realizing that their entire friend group is a circle. im proud of it

now like. fuck. shit. thought experiment my ass. this is gonna consume me. fuck you man

my first instinct, bryan the chef. not disgraced, not exactly, but tired. thinks he has nothing left to make, but is determined to start a new restaurant and do something different. yuta as his neighbor, starving, stressed college student who would eat more vegetables if he knew how to cook them. renee is his restaurant partner, and her husband mox is his best friend who is there to give him shit and pep talks and shitty peptalks. bryan doesn't like jons friend eddie, who tags along when they go out, but eddie sometimes make him get out of his wallowing. and sometimes bryan has to get eddie out of his own wallowing about his on again-off again relationship with claudio, bryans foh manager. bryan already feels weird falling in love with the college student he's teaching how to cook, but then he finds out yuta is like renee and moxs adopted son he'd never met before, because he's always so busy with school

but i have an instinct i like more, actually. remix my remix.

renee the chef. shes always had a great gig on food shows and writing cookbooks, she's beloved. but she's never had her own restaurant before, and she's shit scared about how it's gonna go. her business partner, bryan, knows she's gonna kill it, but also he's an asshole, sometimes, and doesn't know how to give a proper inspirational talk. but he is good at interfacing with their investor while she goes crazy trying to finalize the menu. hell, she doesn't even know who their investor is. they hire yuta in the kitchen, and he's young and adorable and eager and even if he doesn't have the training that they do, she likes him more than anyone else who applied. his mortal enemy, daniel, got hired to the wait staff tho, and no one can tell if they're gonna fuck or fight at any given time. claudio just has good foh manager/host energy, he's personable, what else can i say. eddie is the bartender slash woodworker slash handyman who solves their problem of needing a bartender, needing someone to fix the place they chose, and needing a custom bar installed. also he's funny and he pisses bryan off and makes claudio blush. then there's mox, the burly, rough and tumble famous ufc fighter and window neighbor in the apartment building next to renees. he can't cook for shit, renee has a running tally of the number of times she's seen him throw the windows open to let out smoke. and one night, bored and tired of trying to work on the menu, she takes pity on him and carts a box of ingredients to the building next door, hunts down his apartment and offers to teach him how to cook. then there's the matter of who their investor is, and who the mysterious man all her friends are trying to set her up with is, and the inconvenient fact that she thinks mox is kinda cute and is starting to fall for him

i think that's the one i would write. less trauma this time around, more softness.

also, consider: gruff famous chef ruby, bumbling neighbor ang. up and coming chef hook, weird cabaret neighbor dan(housen). world renowned chef regal quietly trying to start a diner, boring vegan neighbor bryan who only makes salad and it makes regal sad. revolutionary vegan chef sami, and his overworked vet neighbor kevin. chef swerve and poofy haired cowboy hangman next door that he hates, he promises. actually i like that one a lot, too. chef orange, king of simple ingredients and big flavors, and his goofy streamer neighbor chuck. chef willow, trying to make a name for herself, and her weird neighbor kris who thinks she's an alien but we're not quite sure about that or not.

so many combinations... shit. balls. fuck.

#asks!#lamp-bright rind

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cooking-with-hailstones · 1 year ago

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Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks for the tags y'all! @mistresslrigtar @zeldadiarist @ladyhoneydee y'all go read their stuff it's so good

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Just 8, but it's about to increase! ;)

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

58,767!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Legend of Zelda - All BOTW so far. I have some ideas for other Zelda games but they remain as ideas for now.

I also have a short Marvel story from my Steve/Bucky days circa 2013.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Shadows - An Epistolary Poem from Steve Rogers to Bucky Barnes

Is that a yes? (Zelink oneshot, NSFW)

That child of mine (my beloved longfic - I promise I'm coming back to this story soon! I miss it so much)

Silk and moonlight (with art from the magnificent @bahbahhh)

A chance encounter at the blood clinic (modern Zelink au that is very silly but you gotta be ok with blood donation)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Absolutely! I am a sucker for attention and I love talking about stories with people.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oh DEFINITELY That child of mine. It's not even finished yet but there is some goooood angst coming, and I already know how it's going to end (I've actually written a good chunk of the finale already) and it's gonna be heartbreaking.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably A chance enounter? They get each other's number and the promise of a cute date.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Nope! I've only gotten some (requested) constructive criticism. I do have a fic planned that I anticipate being kinda contentious? But I'm already planning on limiting comments on that one lol.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yee! I've never written anything hardcore but I do really like writing and reading sexy scenes. I'm not much of a PWP kind of person (give me all of the emotional context) but I'm a big believer that sex and intimacy are fundamentally human experiences and can serve a story in so many beautiful and interesting ways.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I continue to chip away at my Deep Space 9/TotK crossover idea. It's gonna happen one day... maybe...

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope, but maybe I'll try re-writing one of my stories in French sometime as a project.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No but I would LOVE to. The closest is when B and I collaborated and I wrote a story and she did the art.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Zelink, definitely. People whose souls are inextricably bound to one another and keep finding each other, lifetime after lifetime? That's the good shit right there. Obsessed.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

The story that walked into my head that made me start writing. It's a crazy ambitious story - Basic premise is that instead of the Sheikah technology being banned by the ancient king, the Sheikah themselves were banished from the lands of Hyrule. In the interim, Hyrule has been through many wars, dynasties and factions have all risen and fallen, and the bloodline of the Goddess has been forgotten. No one remembers any of the old stories. Zelda is a farm girl training to become a healer like her mother, Link is the son of the king who won the throne after lead a successful campaign against the Zora, and into all of this comes a young Impa, drawn back to Hyrule after thousands of years away, tormented by visions of calamity, a prophecy her people have passed down for millenia, knowing that Hylia would recall them to the land of their ancestors when the time was right. It's anti-monarchy, it's about climate change, it's about falling in love and renouncing power in order to fulfill a greater purpose, it's about knowing yourself, it's about righting ancestral wrongs, and I do not think it will ever be finished but I do like to come back to it every once in a while.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Coming up with interesting concepts!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Executing interesting concepts?

But in all seriousness, I know I still have a lot to learn as a writer. I'm overly descriptive, I have long run-on sentences, dialogue tags are my nemesis, and I struggle to write with real depth of character.

I do think I'm a good storyteller. I am just still honing those skills.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I think it's great! I am obsessed with conlangs - I think they're so fucking cool. For writing in existing languages, as long as you're familiar with the language, or getting someone to look it over and not just running things through google translate, I think that's wonderful.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Captain America.

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

That child of mine my beloved

This was really fun, thanks y'all!

Tagging @louwhose @newtsnaturethings @wanderingnightingale and @bahbahhh ! I'm sure y'all have already been tagged but add me to the pile of fans who want to hear more about your work :D

#pals!#emily talks #fandom #tag game #my writing #breath of the wild #fanfiction #legend of zelda

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bloodstainedstar · 1 year ago

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What ships do you have for Bucky?

✮ – "…I don't have any ships...? Is this about Sam's boat?"

–

I'll answer this one. Hi, hello! I personally like the most beloved ship there is in the whole Marvel and MCU and this won't surprise anyone: Steve/Bucky (StuCky).

However.

Thanks to wonderful writing partners I've ended up liking the following as well:

Bucky/Stephen Strange (WinterStrange)

Bucky/Zemo (WinterBaron)

Bucky/Matt Murdock (WinterDevil---I swear I have an idea for this one, I'm not crazy)

Bucky/Clint (WinterHawk)

Bucky/Wanda (WinterWitch)

Bucky/Sam (WinterFalcon)

Bucky/Tony (WinterIron)

I know a lot of y'all might be thinking: what do they think about WinterWidow? I'm neutral. I've read as many comics as I could that featured Bucky and therefore Natasha, and it could be that I truly like her portrayal by ScarJo in the MCU that when I read Nat in comics it feels...foreign, or I just don't see them together.

That being said I would love to explore WinterWidow following MCU portrayals (and we can ignore that Nat died because that sucked).

There could be other ships but mostly those are the ones at the top of my head.

#fan mail #writer: ooc

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bisamwilson · 2 years ago

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hey mak! 4, 8, and 25, pls do choose violence

hi sary!!! thanks for the ask <3 (from this list)

4. what was the last straw that made you finally block that annoying person?

i block freely and liberally tbh, so there are a million answers to this. people over-uwuing bucky get a block (there was one person in particular who KEPT arguing with me that bucky wasn't that old when he "died" when i was kind of flippantly saying that bucky was 107 years old and thus knew better than to pull all the shit he did in tfatws). people being weird and shitty about peggy carter get a block. people who shit on (and then tag!) star trek alternate original series hate get a block, and the same for overly vocal star trek: discovery haters.

new people get blocked often if i keep seeing them put [not sam] x reader fics in the sam tag, or if they're posting those shitty incorrect quotes that just make it seem like sam and bucky fucking despise each other and are insanely mean and cruel to each other for no goddamn reason

so the answer to this is basically "i have a small number of people i'm happy to see on my dash and if you're not one of them and i see you doing annoying shit you're probably getting blocked" lmao

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

that joaquín is afraid of bucky!!!!! i don't see it as much anymore but it used to be everywhere and it always drove me crazy. joaquín does nothing but tease bucky literally the entire time we see them interact in tfatws, but so many fics had him like nervous as hell any time bucky was around. absolutely not. joaquín and sam tag team to roast the hell out of bucky at every opportunity

also outside of certain beloved aus, bucky can't cook worth shit and i will die on this hill. that man's love language might be acts of service and he might be a trophy house husband but he is not making sam fancy dinners to come home to every night or else he'd burn the whole house down!!! he does, however, have all of sam's favorite takeout places on speed dial and regularly does maintenance work for all the ladies around town in exchange for sam's favorite homecooked meals

25. common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing

that steve going back in time to peggy was abandoning bucky. i have a lot of mixed feelings about steve's ending (i've loved steggy since i was like 12 years old, so seeing them get to have their happy ending did make me happy, but he went about it SO wrong with re: sam that it soured a good bit of that happiness), but the one thing i'm absolutely sure about is that steve did not abandon bucky. bucky knew steve was going, told him beforehand what his plans were and who he was giving the shield to. it was sam that he left without talking to, that he dumped a huge complicated legacy on and peaced out without another word. but i still hear the "poor bucky, steve abandoned him!" shit like every day, and i hate it more and more each time

send me a # and i'll answer that question from the choose violence ask list!

#i'm having WAY too much fun with this #thanks for the ask sary <3 #ask game #ask meme #marvel #saryasy #ask

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gifsbysimplysonia · 1 month ago

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Many thanks to @buckets-and-trees for putting this one on my dash.

Something @witchywithwhiskey is SO well versed at is environment building? I don't feel like that's the correct phrase, but I also can't come up with the right one lol. I'm not as good with words as they are :P But the entire opening of this story is so full of vibrant, rich sensory detail that I saw the whole thing play out like the opening credits of one of my beloved Hallmark / Netflix romance movies. Gritty sandy sidewalks, the sound of waves being a soundtrack to the walk, feeling her bathing suit digging into her skin and her thighs chafing (as a fat gal, I know that one well) under her dress. It was all just SO VIVID because the descriptions are so well written and I love being immediately immersed in Brambleberry Cove (how cute is that for a seaside small town name too, btw).

Seeing Steve Rogers for the first time in over 15 years made something loosen in your chest, anxiety uncoiling from around your heart and shaking free for the first time in a long time. A sense of safety and comfort washed over you, and you had the sudden thought that this was how you were supposed to feel about coming home.

When I tell y'all I screamed into my pumpkin pillow at these lines because ... I struggle so much with describing emotion, no doubt because I am not good at feeling or processing it myself, right? LOL but this description of feeling safe and comfortable and the revelation that THIS is what coming home feels like...refer back to the GIF cuz omgggggggggggggggggg. So good.

The kids, a boy and a girl, both stared up at him with wide eyes, shyness and wonder clear in their twin expressions. They looked to their parents for permission before shyly revealing what flavors they’d like to try. Steve gave a deep, hearty chuckle at their timidness, and complimented them on their choices, which seemed to make them both loosen up a bit.

All of the physical description of Steve is TOP TIER but I love this moment being observed because it's one of those times where I feel like canon Steve comes through in someone's characterization of him. Steve being inherently good at noticing and respecting how shy or nervous people are - especially kids - and knowing how to ease that? Yes. All the yes. That is so Steve Rogers.

But you couldn’t leave without talking to him. Not when he was right there and it had been so long and you were dying to know everything that he’d done in the last 15 years since you saw him last.

This makes me giggle because I, too, would be TERRIFIED of talking to THE Steve Rogers - let alone a Steve Rogers I had grown up with - but my nosy ass would want to know EVERYTHINGGGGG I'd missed with him lol

“Hey there, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, his tone as friendly and familiar as it had always been. All of a sudden, it felt like no time had passed at all.

THE WAY I WOULD POOF INTO THANOS DUST IF THAT VOICE CALLED ME BY THAT NICKNAME, GOOD LORDT.

Still, a thought needled you as you stood across the counter from Steve—the knowledge that if you did let yourself break down and cry, he wouldn’t hesitate to fold you into that broad chest of his, wrapping you up in his thick arms and holding you so securely, the world might not seem so grim anymore.

It's crazy to me lol cuz I am someone who will deny deny deny how I feel to my own detriment. But I'm reading about this person who actually ALREADY KNOWS HOW SHE FEELS from every observation she's had about Steve since she entered Seaside Scoops ... but I guess only subconsciously? But it's so funny to see the juxtaposition of her thoughts and feelings but then her logic coming in and trying to be like, I don't know why I am feeling these feelings. YES YOU DO, MISS, YES YOU DO.

You chalked it up to nostalgia and the rough time you were having, forcing yourself to take a deep breath and paste on a bright smile.

Having been in this position myself (and going through it again now in Q4 of 2024), I so badly want to hug her because she feels as though she has to hide how she's really doing and really feeling. But oh man, do I get it.

Steve is also still drawing in this 'Verse cuz the Seaside Scoops mascot is a shark Steve drew FOR HER back when she knew him originally and I THINK THAT IS SO PRECIOUS! I kind of want to commission someone to actually draw it now, hmmmmmmm.

“Is a dipped twist still your favorite?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject and your smile dimmed just a little. The Steve you’d known had been shy about showing his art to anyone but you, and it seemed that you’d been gone long enough to be lumped in with everyone else.

I want to die at how cute he is cuz this Steve still can't take a compliment, still has a memory like a steel trap, and a habit of making people feel special with his thoughtfulness. There's intimacy in someone knowing your order of anything, really ... ice cream, coffee, meal at the corner diner. And it's noticing deets that REALLY resonates with me and makes me melt as a reader *screams into my pumpkin pillow again*

You and Steve weren’t friends anymore, and you needed to accept that. It was unreasonable to hold him to a promise he’d made more than two decades ago, especially when you were the one who’d left and had barely tried to stay in touch between college classes and exploring your new city.

*sing song voice* hate thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis lol I don't know why on earth she didn't keep up her promise to stay in touch and stay friends with Steve but it makes me want to step on her stubbed toe >:P I get that "life happens," but as someone who felt like the one always following up with friends when they went off to live another life, I just ... he deserved better.

For a long moment, you simply stared at each other. Steve really had grown up and changed so much, the evidence in the weathered grooves of his forehead and the lines between his brows, but his eyes still looked the same—soft as clouds, warm as the summer sun.

It's the continued reference to elements that remind me of the town and the summertime to describe him that I am so enjoying.

For a long moment, you couldn’t get over the way Steve had been able to read your mind, to pluck the thought that you were strangers to each other out of your brain and then tell you he didn’t want that to be the case. Your mind raced with questions. Did he still think of you as friends? Did he remember the promise you’d made all those years ago to always be friends? How did he know the exact right thing to say? But then the rational side of your brain resurfaced from wherever your heart had momentarily buried it, and you remembered his farewell was a normal thing for people to say to each other. Especially people who hadn’t seen each other in a while and likely would again because they both lived in a very small town. That’s all it was, just a normal goodbye. Not Steve Rogers somehow reading your mind because he knew you so well.

The longing? Is killing me. It's delicious but she KEEPS TALKING HERSELF OUT OF WHAT'S GOING ON which makes me want to again, stomp on her stubbed toe lol

Your mood was decidedly better, and you enjoyed the walk home, refusing to think too much about why exactly you felt lighter and happier and less miserable about being home in Brambleberry Cove than you had before going to Seaside Scoops. It was just the ice cream, obviously. There was no other reason.

"There was no other reason."

Me:

It was probably for the best, though. You were drunk and horny and if you weren’t careful, you would’ve gone home with Brock Rumlow. Just thinking about it made you grimace at yourself and your poor almost-decisions.

EW, GURL, EW. Thank you, Bucky, for saving her from that and calling Steve.

The fact Steve is driving her home in his truck and there's reference to the salty sea air as well as the smell of the leathery interior of his truck is once again SO GOOD. I was immediately inside that truck, staring at Steve's profile myself, feeling what I also imagine is a not-so-smooth ride cuz I'm imagining an older truck lol Again, the sensory detail work is top notch.

She is BLITZED and saying all her inside thoughts out loud which at first makes Steve laugh but then when she talks about how he looks different but the same cuz his eyes are the same and the bump in his nose is still there and his lips are soft and full ... oof! The mood SHIFTS. Cuz he's like, yeah nobody else even saw those things BUTTERCUP *swoon* and in her drunkenness, she's all indignant and says well then they never really saw YOU, Steve and I am SCREAMINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG cuz OMG GURL JUST SAY YOU LOVE HIM ALREADY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But Steve's response made me have to jump up out of my bed and take a lap around the couch cuz

“No, no one ever saw me as well as you did, buttercup,” Steve said, his voice low and warm, and your heart promptly rioted in your chest.

THIS. IS. A. ROMANCE. MOVIE! I'm TELLING you! It has all the correct beats!

There was something so dizzyingly wonderful about hearing Steve say such intimate words to you in that deep, caramel voice of his, genuine affection shining through his tone. It took your breath away for a moment, and your brain short-circuited.

All of this makes me think, ok we are about to get INTO it but everything takes a TURN. Cuz we find out they already had sex once. I guess it was both their first times and Steve, bless his heart, finished in 3 seconds. Because of that, he asked Bucky if it counted cuz he wasn't sure, and homegirl is PISSED at this revelation for some reason. It's a WILD turn.

“Don’t you dare,” you snarled, the words bursting out of you with a ferocity you’d never used in your life, let alone when talking to Steve. But you were furious all of a sudden, and it wasn’t until the words were spilling from your mouth that you understood why you were so angry. “Don’t you dare try to take this away from me, Steven Grant Rogers.” Your voice was seething and barely recognizable, but you couldn’t stop. “You were my first, and it was perfect—because it was you.”

The way I legit sat here clutching my pillow like ... not knowing what to do for a good 30 seconds after reading this. Cuz of course she has to be DRUNK to reveal exactly how she feels about him, right? But that she is so VEHEMENTLY ANGERED by Steve inadvertently almost taking away "credit" or whatever? It's insane! Like, what more do we need to know she is IN LOVE WITH HIM?!?!

But crazily, we don't get into THAT conversation, they continue arguing about their first time lol! He insists she deserved better, she reveals he went down on her and gave her 3 orgasms which ... way to go, sir lol

The silence grew until it was suffocating, and you needed to break it. So you said the first thing that came to mind. Again. “You’re who I think about when I touch myself, Steve.” Your words drifted from your side of the truck to the other, carried on the light breeze floating through the cab. “I think about you and that night, and it gets me off every single time.”

The way I expected him to HIT THE DAMN BRAKES and them to go off a cliff at this point because THAT IS THE REACTION THIS CONFESSION DESERVES!

Instead, he tells her he thinks about her too so she undoes her seatbelt and almost makes him crash lol but he pulls over then REFUSES to give into the gorgeous woman literally BEGGING HIM FOR JUST THE TIP because ... Steve Rogers will not do that with someone who is drunk which is SO GEE DEE STEVE ROGERS it makes me wanna hug him and then kick him in the shins lol

Steve’s hand slid down from your cheek to wrap around the front of your throat, and you stilled immediately, something about the possessive, dominant gesture making you calm. That was new, Steve hadn’t done anything like that when you’d first been together, but you liked it more than you would’ve expected.

Nothing like when a kink comes out of NOWHERE to slap me in the face. LORDT.

“I won’t fuck you only to wake up tomorrow and find out you regret it,” Steve said, enunciating all his words clearly despite the fact that his teeth were grinding together “That you only wanted it because you needed to scratch an itch. When I fuck you again,” he growled, his words a promise. “I don’t want you drunk on anything but my cock.”

Damn him for making nobility so hawt but also vocalizing how much he actually WOULD LIKE TO BE PHYSICAL WITH HER cuz straight up rejection could hurt if he didn't add that in.

You wanted to hear every flavor of your nickname on Steve’s tongue. You wanted to hear him whisper it like a prayer, and groan it into your lips while he kissed you. You wanted to hear Steve shout your nickname while he came with you.

That whole section is just deliciously written.

What follows and I will not quote because y'all NEED TO GO READ IT FOR YOURSELVES is SUCH a ride. Because Steve won't pursue anything physical but he tells her, he holds no qualms about her pursuing her own pleasure...while in his lap...WITH HIS HAND AROUND HER THROAT.

THENNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN THEN THENNNNNNNNNNNNNNN he starts dirty talking and CHEESE AND RICE, Y'ALL! Better have your own pillow or sound absorbing something to use when reading this section cuz it is soooooooooooooooooooooooo

Cuz then SHE also starts voicing FILTHY thoughts and the give and take between the two is so incredibly fire. *fans self* I was literally sweating.

Eventually things wrap up and gentleman that Steve is, he takes her back to her rental and hangs out to ensure she gets in bed ok.

“I don’t regret anything we’ve done together, Stevie,” you mumbled, the side of your mouth hitching up in a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you were my first.” You lost the battle with your eyes and they fell closed. You also, apparently, lost the fight against biting back your feelings, murmuring sleepily, “I want you to be my last.” For a long moment, Steve was quiet. He seemed to wait until you were just on the edge of sleep before responding to your drunken confession. “Tell me that again when you’re not drunk, and I’ll believe you, buttercup,” Steve murmured, ducking down to press a kiss to your hand, still wrapped loosely around his wrist, before carefully extricating himself.

THIS IS A ROMANCE MOVIE, YOU GUYS, I'M TELLING YOUUUUUUU. The way it so vividly plays in my mind.

I know not to be that reader that demands more or anything like that, but in the A/N it was expressed that this was an idea that has been with the author for a while and they just don't know if they will ever get to flesh it out completely. But I feel like we have 2 really full acts here ALREADY so there only needs to be one more ... it's such a rich setting, Steve is such a fully developed character already, and their relationship and this being second chance romance (which I am SO obsessed with right now) ... it's just something I REALLY REALLY enjoyed. Beautifully done, and actually because the almost sex is as hot as it is, it's actually a movie that has to be done for PASSIONFLIX so we don't get fade to black lol

@witchywithwhiskey this is a masterpiece and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for writing and sharing. As someone trying to write my own second chance romance, I feel like a lot of this is a master lesson in how to do it WELL. And of course thanks again to Aspen for putting it on my dash to begin with. It's one I know I'm going to revisit often (and have a few times already).

first and last

pairing: childhood best friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: after more than a decade away from your home town—and your childhood best friend—you return. everything is exactly the same, but also, entirely different.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, angst, smut, drunken antics, some arguing, drunk masturbation (f) with an audience, semi-public, choking, dirty talk, praise kink, begging, boundaries, very light bdsm vibes, references to past sexual intimacy (piv sex, oral sex [f receiving]), nicknames (buttercup, baby), aftercare

word count: 8.8k

a/n: this is my entry in @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar Challenge, and i've been working on it since june so i'm very excited to post it!!! i wanted to make a sundae i'd actually eat so i used the prompts Butterscotch (childhood friends) and Caramel (drunk/delirious/not in their right mind). it also might be a bit literal to have Steve working at an ice cream shop but whatever!!

i mentioned when i teased this fic that i'd thought about turning it into a much longer story/potentially saving it for a novel, but honestly i just don't know when or if i'll ever have time to do that. but these scenes don't necessarily follow right after each other, so if they feel disconnected, that's why. they're just the ones i wanted to write 😅

The sidewalk of Brambleberry Cove was warm from a full day under the August sun, the concrete gritty with sand beneath your bare feet as you walked the rest of the short distance to Seaside Scoops from your rental house a few blocks away.

The sun dipped low on the western horizon, casting long shadows over the coastal town like stretching fingers reaching for the Atlantic Ocean. You could hear the steady sound of the crashing waves over the near distant sand dunes, their rhythm a background to your walk.

It could’ve been a peaceful moment—you were back in your home town, surrounded by familiar sights and sounds and smells. But you were in a wretched mood, and all you could focus on was everything wrong with the world and your current place in it.

There was, of course, the throbbing pain in your big toe from when you’d stubbed it moments ago on the cursed, charming sidewalk, as well as the slight sting on the sides of your foot where your flip flop straps had torn. Your ruined shoes dangled from your fingers because Brambleberry Cove didn’t have a trash can on every street corner like the city you were accustomed to living in.

In addition to those grievances, the straps of your bathing suit—which you hadn’t worn in far too long and hadn’t realized had become too small—were digging into your shoulders and hips uncomfortably. And, though you’d only been walking for five minutes from the little bungalow you were renting, your thighs were already beginning to chafe beneath the simple dress you’d thrown on.

All told, you were not in the mood to appreciate the simple beauty of Brambleberry Cove. Instead of admiring the sun-bleached cottages that gave way to the small coastal shops lining main street, and letting yourself sink into the comfort of being back in your tiny beachside home town, you were fixated on everything wrong in your life—both in that moment and the larger scheme of things.

In your defense, though, there was a lot wrong in your life. There’d had to be to get you back to your home town after so long away.

There was the dream job you’d lost, the ex who’d left you for someone else, and the friends who’d all promised to be there for you, but then vanished when you actually needed help. The only people who’d come through for you were your parents, who’d had a friend willing to rent a little Brambleberry Cove bungalow to you for a fraction of its normal summer price since it was already August and they weren’t going to make much more money anyway.

You’d had to pack up and leave the city where you’d built your life for 15 years, and move back to your home town, which you hadn’t seen in nearly that long since your parents had moved out west shortly after you’d graduated high school. Being back home made you feel like you weren’t only taking a single step backward, but moving leaps and bounds in the wrong direction. It made you feel like a failure.

But you tried not to think about all that on your short walk to Seaside Scoops, instead focusing on the pain in your toe and the digging ache of your bathing suit.

By the time you saw the familiar neon sign for the ice cream shop, it felt like finding an oasis in the desert. You picked up your pace, ignoring the way your body protested, the soles of your feet no longer used to walking on the sandy sidewalk like you’d done countless times growing up in Brambleberry Cove.

You could see through the window that there was a short line in Seaside Scoops, and you hurriedly pushed through the door of the shop. Once inside, you breathed in the familiar scent of sugar and hot fudge and reveled in the feel of the air conditioner ghosting over your sun-warmed shoulders.

Surreptitiously, you shoved your ruined flip flops into the garbage just inside the door and got in line behind the couple with their two small children. You glanced around the shop, not really taking it in, and hoped whoever was working behind the counter was still lax on the ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ rule that had theoretically been in place since before you were born—but had never been enforced in practice.

Finally looking to the counter, wondering idly if you’d recognize who was working or if it’d be some local teen that had been a baby the last time you’d been to Brambleberry Cove, you were shocked to see who was working at Seaside Scoops. Your belly swooped like you were standing on a boat on the choppy sea, your heart racing when you recognized the man behind the counter. At one time, he’d been the boy you’d shared so much of your childhood with, so many of your summers with.

When you got a good look at him, you were almost surprised you recognized him so fast. He was no longer the scrawny teenager you’d left behind when you’d gone off to college and never looked back. He looked so different from the boy you’d known well enough you could recall his face in perfect detail, but, in so many ways, exactly the same.

On the whole, it was a shock to see the man Steve Rogers had become.

Sandy brown hair fell on either side of his handsome, suntanned face, swept back like he had a habit of running his hands through it countless times a day. A short, well-kept beard decorated his strong jaw, bracketing a set of soft pink lips that were curved in a devastating grin. His bright blue eyes sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights of the shop, and when he spoke to the family in front of you in line, his voice rumbled like the distant roar of the ocean.

But you shoved that thought aside and continued your perusal of your childhood best friend, making note of all the ways he’d changed from the boy you’d known.

Thick, golden biceps were bare and bulging beneath the edge of his white t-shirt, and dense, brown hair covered corded forearms as Steve folded his arms on top of the ice cream case. He was tall—tall enough to lean over the case to talk to the kids with the couple in front of you, asking them about their favorite ice cream flavors and if they’d like to try anything new.

Inexplicable heat flushed through your body at the sound of Steve’s deep laughter, and the easiness with which he interacted with the kids. You’d never been particularly good with children, mainly because you’d never had much of a chance to interact with any, and you’d never felt any particular desire to be around them. But seeing Steve looking like he did talking to those kids made your belly swoop again and something inside you pulse with a need you didn’t want to fully unpack.

Shoving those thoughts into a box in the back corner of your mind, you forced yourself to look away from your childhood friend and up at the menu that listed all the ice cream flavors. You’d been to Seaside Scoops hundreds of times in your life, if not thousands, and, at one time, you’d had the list memorized.

Hopefully you still had that knowledge tucked away somewhere in your brain, because you weren’t taking in anything you were reading as you not-so-patiently waited for Steve to finish up with the customers in front of you.

It felt like forever, and by the time the family took their cups and cones of ice cream toward the side door that opened up into an outdoor seating area, you’d already cycled through three rounds of the same argument with yourself about why you should leave Seaside Scoops without talking to Steve. You couldn’t imagine your first conversation in 15 years going well.

Still, it took you a few extra seconds to gather the courage to lower your eyes from the menu board and finally look at your childhood friend. When you did, your gaze caught immediately on Steve’s, and your heart gave a little flip at the devastatingly charming smile on his impossibly handsome face.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, his tone as friendly and familiar as it had always been. All of a sudden, it felt like no time had passed at all.

“Hi, Steve,” you said, trying for the same casualness he’d achieved, but your voice sounded faint and faraway in your ears. The corners of your mouth flickered in a tremulous smile.

You couldn’t understand the surge of emotion filling your chest and rising in your throat, pricking at the backs of your eyes like you wanted to throw yourself into your oldest friend’s arms and sob about everything wrong in your life.

The same deluge of emotion had hit you when you’d stubbed your toe on your walk to Seaside Scoops and you’d had to stand there by yourself, sucking in deep breaths of salty Brambleberry Cove air, nails biting into the flesh of your palms to keep yourself from breaking down.

Just as you’d done then, you beat back the emotion, blinking your eyes rapidly to rid them of tears. Still, a thought needled you as you stood across the counter from Steve—the knowledge that if you did let yourself break down and cry, he wouldn’t hesitate to fold you into that broad chest of his, wrapping you up in his thick arms and holding you so securely, the world might not seem so grim anymore.

You chalked it up to nostalgia and the rough time you were having, forcing yourself to take a deep breath and paste on a bright smile. Casting your eyes around Seaside Scoops, you pretended to give the place a real look, though you didn’t really notice much as you continued to blink back tears.

“You work here now?” you asked lightly, looking at the new standee in the corner.

It was a cartoon shark holding up a sign advertising Seaside Scoops and their many ice cream flavors. But what caught your eye was that it looked a bit like the shark Steve had drawn for you when you’d gotten a bad grade sophomore year and wanted to cheer you up. It even had the same little sailor hat sitting perched on top of his head—which only made sense because sharks didn’t have blowholes, he’d told you at the time.

You’d smiled then, and you smiled again remembering it.

“Uhh,” Steve started, and you turned tear-free eyes back on your old friend, your gaze drawn to the way his bicep bulged against the sleeve of his t-shirt as he scuffed the back of his neck. There was a little bit of a sheepish tinge to his smile. “I actually own Scoops now,” he said in a rush, like he was confessing to something, though you couldn’t imagine what. “I bought it when Mr. Wallace retired down to Florida.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to say, glancing around the ice cream shop with a keener eye.

The shark standee wasn’t the only new thing in the place. Everything, from the tables and chairs to the menu board and counter, looked slightly newer than you remembered. Nothing was wildly different, which was why you hadn’t noticed it when you first looked around. Everything just looked better than it should if it had aged a decade since you’d last stepped into the shop.

Something about it made you think Seaside Scoops looked exactly like your memory of it—but the polished, perfect version in your head, instead of the place as it had been. Yellowed with age and a lack of upkeep. It was genuinely astounding what Steve had done with the place and it took you a few moments to find the right words, though they still felt pale in comparison to the bittersweet nostalgia in your heart.

“The place looks great,” you said with a half smile as you turned back to Steve. A small thread of pride wormed through your heart at seeing what your oldest friend had accomplished and your smile widened when he brightened under your praise. “I like the shark,” you said, hooking a thumb over your shoulder at the standee.

A bit of pink tinted Steve’s cheeks above his beard, and he cleared his throat.

You swallowed back a lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah, that’s still my favorite,” you answered, more than a little surprised Steve remembered your order.

Sure, you’d gone to Seaside Scoops together countless times as kids. It had been your hangout spot for most of your childhood, and even into your teen years. You’d study together over a cup of cookie dough with sprinkles for Steve and a cone of vanilla and chocolate softserve dipped in chocolate sauce for you. But that was more than a decade ago.

Your heart gave a heavy squeeze when you remembered the night before you’d left Brambleberry Cove, the way Steve reminded you of the promise you’d made as children—that you’d always be friends. Your stomach twisted into knots as you were confronted with the reality that you hadn’t kept up your end of the deal. You’d left, and you’d allowed your oldest friend to become a stranger.

You wondered if Steve remembered the promise you’d made, the reminder he’d given you as a parting gift, or if he’d forgotten. You wondered if he’d ever want to be friends again.

Steve’s back was to you, his wrist flicking expertly beneath the softserve machine as he filled up a sugar cone with the twist of chocolate and vanilla. You forced yourself to push aside the memories of the past, blinking back more tears before Steve could catch them in your eyes.

With a great amount of effort, you kept your mind blissfully blank as you let your gaze trail idly over Steve’s broad back, unable to stop yourself from noticing just how wide his shoulders were, or the way they moved beneath the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt. He really did fill out the shirt well, his sides tapering down to a thin waist. And his ass looked particularly good in the curve-hugging denim of his jeans.

As Steve turned around, you raised your eyes quickly and arranged your expression into one of innocence. Steve paused, giving you a shrewd look like he would’ve done when you were teenagers and you were hiding something from him, but then he just shook his head and laughed under his breath, turning to the chocolate sauce where he’d dip your ice cream cone.

“So, what brings you back to Brambleberry Cove, buttercup?” Steve asked, his gaze focusing on dipping your ice cream just right, a look of determination on his face that was endlessly endearing.

You grimaced at the exact moment he glanced up at you, and he chuckled at the face you made. The sound was smooth as warm caramel and sent a new wave of heat rolling down your spine.

“That bad, huh?” he asked, genuine interest in his tone.

Although there was a point in your life when you could’ve told Steve anything, and the urge to do so still lingered deep in your bones, you knew your relationship was different. You couldn’t dump all your problems on your childhood friend after not talking to him for 15 years. You didn’t even know if you were still friends anymore.

Plus, there was a small crowd gathering behind you as the late dinner rush started to filter into Seaside Scoops. Even if you’d wanted to tell Steve everything that had happened to you in the 15 years since you’d last seen him, it wasn’t the time.

So you just gave him a sad smile and accepted the ice cream cone from Steve’s hand, ignoring the butterflies and ticklish warmth that fluttered through your body at his touch. You gripped the sugar cone tight—but not too tight—so you didn’t fumble it.

“Yeah,” you whispered in answer to his question, leaving it at that. There was an awkward beat, and your eyes dropped to the ice cream that was already beginning to melt despite the air conditioning in the shop. Thankfully, you had an easy way to move past Steve’s questions.

You pulled some cash from the wristlet where you’d also stashed your phone and I.D., asking, “What do I owe you?” because you figured it must’ve been more expensive than what you remembered. And you didn’t want to risk looking up at the menu and catching Steve’s eye, not wanting any of the emotions or heat that seemed to flood you whenever you looked at him.

But a large, warm, golden hand closed over your fumbling fingers, startling you enough to look up into the sky blue eyes of your childhood friend. Your lips fell open in surprise as tingling warmth worked its way up your arm from your hand, wrapping around your heart and making it beat harder.

“It’s on the house,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest, the thrum of some emotion you couldn’t identify laced through his words. “It was nice to see an old friend,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze before he pulled his away.

It wasn’t until Steve straightened up to his full height that you realized he’d been leaning over the counter, and your faces had been very close together. Heat crept into your cheeks at the realization that Steve had been in your personal space, and all you’d thought about was his eyes.

Shoving all the money in your hand into the tip jar, you muttered, “Thanks, Steve.” As you zipped up your wristlet, you noticed that some of your ice cream was in danger of dripping onto your hand.

Without thinking, you licked quickly around the edge of the sugar cone, a soft moan slipping free when the cool sweetness of the ice cream hit your brain.

Steve made a strangled sound that dragged your attention away from your treat, finding your childhood best friend looking away and coughing into his fist, a deeper pink flushing his cheeks. You quirked your eyebrow in confusion when he looked back at you, but his expression gave nothing away and you had to wonder if you’d imagined the noise. It had almost sounded…aroused.

Shaking that thought clear from your mind, you gave Steve a smile and began to step away from the counter so he could help the next customer.

Steve’s eyes lingered on you, and he offered you one last charming, friendly smile, raising his hand in a wave. “Don’t be a stranger, buttercup,” he rumbled, his low words managing to reach your ears over the chatter in the shop. He gave you a long look, emotion swirling in those familiar eyes of his, and your breath caught in your throat.

The intensity of his gaze and the warmth in his parting words hit you straight in the gut, and you stood stunned in front of the register while Steve turned and walked to the other end of the ice cream case to help the next people in line.

But then the rational side of your brain resurfaced from wherever your heart had momentarily buried it, and you remembered his farewell was a normal thing for people to say to each other. Especially people who hadn’t seen each other in a while and likely would again because they both lived in a very small town. That’s all it was, just a normal goodbye.

Not Steve Rogers somehow reading your mind because he knew you so well.

With those rationalities ringing in your head, you dashed out of Seaside Scoops and it wasn’t until your feet had carried you to the next block that you remembered your broken shoes and stubbed toe and chafed thighs.

But those problems didn’t seem quite so bad anymore. Not with the delicious ice cream cone in your hand, and the sunset casting Brambleberry Cove in gorgeous, golden light—and especially not with Steve’s warm, honeyed voice ringing in your head, calling you buttercup.

It had felt so normal to hear the nickname roll off Steve’s tongue that you hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t realized how long it had been since you’d last heard it. But, just as it had when you were younger, it filled your chest with a bright, golden warmth. You grinned to yourself as you strolled back to your little bungalow, licking up the melting ice cream as fast as you could.

“You’re staring.” Steve’s voice was low, the undercurrent of laughter in it almost mixing with the sounds of the distant waves. You could hear them through the open windows of his truck as he eased the vehicle down the winding road leading away from the docks on the north side of Brambleberry Cove.

His comment dragged you out of your drunken haze, and you took a deep breath to get your bearings. Your lungs filled with the salty nighttime air of the sea and the earthy leather interior of your childhood best friend’s truck, a small smile curling the corners of your lips and your eyes sliding closed. When you forced them back open, you realized he was right.

Huh, you really were staring at Steve.

Your head was swiveled to the side, your cheek pressed to the brown leather of the seat back, your eyes fixed on the profile of his face that was highlighted in the glossy silver of the moon and warmed by the golden light of the town’s street lamps.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed or ashamed for staring at Steve, though. And it was at that moment you realized you were drunk.

It didn’t surprise you. After all, you were the one who’d thrown on some jean shorts and a cute top and then took yourself to Shanty’s, the only place in Brambleberry Cove to go if you were a local looking to avoid tourists.

You’d been happy to see Bucky Barnes, your other oldest friend after Steve, manning the bar. But you’d been much less happy with him when he’d insisted on calling Steve to take you home after you’d downed more than your fair share of liquor.

Focusing back on Steve, you couldn’t fault Bucky too much for calling your old friend to pick you up—not when it had ended with you able to watch his side profile while he kept his eyes on the road. It felt practically shameful to indulge yourself so much. That is, if you’d had any shame left, but you’d drowned it all in alcohol.

“You’re still staring, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, the humor clearer in his tone. The edges of his mouth were flickering beneath the silvery golden light of Brambleberry Cove at night and you knew he was trying to suppress a smile. It was fascinating to watch, but then Steve rubbed his hand across his mouth, scrubbing through his beard, and it broke you free of your drunken trance.

“I just can’t get over how different you look,” you huffed, raising your arms and flopping them back against the seat in your best approximation of a shrug. “And how exactly the same.”

Steve barked a laugh, the sharp sound bringing a smile instantly to your face. You’d never heard him laugh like that, and you couldn’t help but love that you were still discovering new things about him, even after knowing him all your life.

He glanced over at you, his expression bemused like he was sure you were drunker than he’d thought. You probably were, but that didn’t stop you from being right, and you tried to convey that in the brief moment he looked at you.

Steve’s gaze slid quickly down your body, not like he was checking you out—more like he was checking to make sure your seatbelt was still buckled and you weren’t in danger of doing anything ridiculous. You were only in danger of saying ridiculous things, at least, according to him apparently. He shook his head after he’d turned back to watching the road.

“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, buttercup,” Steve said, a little bit of gruffness in his tone. He cleared his throat before he went on. “Usually when someone we went to high school with comes back, they tell me they never woulda recognized me.”

You gave an unladylike snort, drawing another surprised laugh out of Steve before he bit off the sound to let you speak.

“Well those people should have their eyes checked,” you muttered scornfully, pushing yourself up from where you’d been slumped against the warm leather seat. You twisted your body in your seat so you were facing Steve, your eyes tracing the lines of his face from across the cab. “You still have the same eyes,” you pointed out vehemently, as if Steve was arguing with you, even though he wasn’t. “And your nose still has that little bump in it, and your lips are still so soft and full…”

You trailed off, realizing far too late that you were saying your inside thoughts out loud. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you watched Steve as he processed what you’d said—the way his fingers scratched a little nervously at his beard, those twin lines forming between his brows. Your gazed traced every curve and line and divot in his face, examining his expression, wanting to memorize it and save it for the rest of your life.

“I don’t think any of those people noticed those things,” Steve murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the slight breeze drifting through the windows while he drove through town.

Your heart lurched at the implication of Steve’s words, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take them back, even if they were dangerously close to revealing something you hadn’t even had the courage to admit to yourself yet.

Instead, you focused on your anger at the hypothetical people who weren’t recognizing Steve just because he’d grown up, gotten tall, gotten buff, grown out his hair and his beard and looked altogether very different to the skinny teenager he’d been.

“If they didn’t see those things, they didn’t really see you,” you muttered to yourself, indignant on Steve’s behalf, but trying to keep it to yourself. Apparently, you weren’t good at moderating the volume of your voice, because Steve snorted at your remark.

“No, no one ever saw me as well as you did, buttercup,” Steve said, his voice low and warm, and your heart promptly rioted in your chest.

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him…something. The thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself yet. But you were still you, and your brain tripped at the last moment, and instead you blurted, “Do you ever think about our first time?”

Steve choked on a snort, his eyes darting to you with honest surprise. You couldn’t blame him. You’d had no idea those words were gonna spill from your mouth until they were out, but you supposed they weren’t as bad as what you’d almost confessed, so you didn’t try to take them back or change the topic of conversation. You waited with bated breath for Steve’s response, and whether he remembered your night together when you were both 18.

When he saw you were anticipating his answer, he spluttered, “You mean when I came three seconds after getting inside you?”

You began to smile, because he remembered, but then Steve continued talking.

“Y’know, I told Bucky about that once,” he said, his eyes fixed so fully on the road that you got the impression he didn’t want to meet your gaze and your stomach plummeted. “I was drunk, and didn’t know if it really counted as sex. Bucky was no help, of course—he said he didn’t know either since it was so quick.”

Something new was swirling in your gut, and for long moments you could only sit there on the warm leather of the truck and stew in that hot, feral feeling. It must’ve showed on your face because, when Steve finally looked over at you after you’d been quiet for so long, the truck lurched forward, his foot pressing too hard to the gas.

“Don’t worry,” he rushed to say, guessing at what was upsetting you and guessing wrong. “I didn’t tell him it was with you.”

Steve glanced over at you, something like shock written across his face, but when he looked back at the road, his brows settled low over his eyes. The muscle in his jaw popped and you knew he was grinding his teeth together, taking his time to gather his thoughts before he spoke. It took him a long moment to respond.

“You deserved better.”

The noise of your scoff was loud, even to your ears, and you strained against the seatbelt still buckling you into the passenger seat as you leaned toward your childhood friend.

“You ate me out until I came three times, Steve!” you cried, holding up three fingers as if the adult man your friend had grown into somehow didn’t know how many three was. “No man has ever made me come so many times in one night as you did then.”

When Steve still didn’t look at you, just kept driving with his hands gripping the wheel and the muscle in his jaw popping, you huffed an exasperated sound and flopped back into your seat. Your back was to the leather as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared out at Brambleberry Cove through the open passenger side window.

The silence grew until it was suffocating, and you needed to break it. So you said the first thing that came to mind. Again.

“You’re who I think about when I touch myself, Steve.” Your words drifted from your side of the truck to the other, carried on the light breeze floating through the cab. “I think about you and that night, and it gets me off every single time.”

Steve made a strangled kind of sound, like a growl that was torn free from his throat against his will. Then he was quiet, and he was quiet for so long, you thought that was the only reaction you’d get to admitting the truth. Until…

“I think about you, too, buttercup.”

The confession hung in the air between you, settling heavily onto the leather bench seat in Steve’s truck, the air rushing in through the open windows buffetting around it.

You didn’t feel Steve’s admission sink into you. There was simply a before and an after. And in the after, you were moving. You were unbuckling your seatbelt and scooting across the seat toward Steve until your bare knee brushed against the denim of his jeans.

He shot a startled look in your direction—which, in a distant part of your brain, you registered as completely adorable—before quickly pulling over to the side of the road. He was just throwing the truck into park when you slid into his lap, straddling his thighs and pressing your chest to his.

“We should do it again,” you purred, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning close. When Steve didn’t respond right away, just kept giving you that surprised look, you thought he might not have understood you, so you explained, “Have sex.”

Steve closed his eyes and a light tremor shuddered through his body as his hands settled respectfully on your waist, a few of his fingers brushing the skin where the edge of your tank top didn’t quite meet the waist of your shorts. Then, it was your turn to shudder, the feeling of his warm, calloused hands against your bare skin making heat flood between your thighs, your core warming and your body melting into your old friend’s hands.

“Please, Steve,” you whispered, tipping your head forward until your lips were a hairsbreadth from his, so close you could taste mint chocolate chip ice cream on his tongue and it took everything in you not to lick into his mouth desperately. Your voice was practically a whine as you went on, “Let’s see if we can do better this time.”

Steve’s hands shifted to your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to almost hurt, and you thought he was going to give in. But then he swallowed audibly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he pushed you gently away, his head tilting back against the leather seat so your lips no longer teased him with an almost-kiss.

“You’re drunk, buttercup.”

Steve’s voice was a delicious rasp, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sound of it even as the meaning of his words settled into your drunken mind. You pouted at your childhood friend, hoping the fact that he hadn’t pushed you off his lap entirely meant he wasn’t saying no.

“And horny,” you said, the words slipping from your lips on another whine. Of their own volition, your hips squirmed on your oldest friend’s lap, trying to get closer, trying to find some kind of friction to work against the aching heat pulsing between your thighs. But Steve’s firm grip held you in place. “Stevie.” His name was nothing but a pathetic whimper.

A low growl rumbled in Steve’s chest, and then one of his hands was abandoning your hip to cup your face, tilting it up so he could loom over you. The lines of his face were hard, stubborn, and the look in his eyes left no room for argument.

“You know I won’t touch you when you’re drunk,” he bit out, his voice soft, but as firm as his hold on your body.

A memory slammed into you—you and Steve planning your first time together. You’d made a deal at the start of high school that if neither of you lost your virginity through all four years, then before going off to college, you’d lose it together.

When the time came, you’d been a little nervous, even though it was Steve, and you’d joked that you could take some wine coolers to the beach and get it over with, just like all the other kids in your school. Even then, Steve had looked at you stubbornly, and said, without a shred of willingness to waver, that he wouldn’t touch you if you were drunk.

Back then, it had sent a shiver down your spine, and it had much the same effect more than a decade later in his truck. Your body trembled with arousal, and you pushed feebly against Steve’s hold—not really trying to break it, just enjoying the feeling that came from realizing how strong he was. Those biceps and corded forearms of his weren’t just for show.

“What about just the tip?” you murmured, the words tumbling past your lips before you could think better of them, knowing there was no use trying to argue with Steve when he’d made a decision. But you were clearly thinking with something other than your brain, because the words kept coming. “That’s not sex, just the tip—please, Steve.” You were begging shamelessly, but your shame and embarrassment were still nowhere to be found since you were still definitely drunk.

Steve’s jaw ticked so hard, you could’ve sworn you heard the muscle pop in the quiet of his truck as he ground his teeth together.

“Buttercup,” he growled, a warning in his tone. “That’s not happening.”

Your fists gathered in the front of Steve’s t-shirt and you yanked on it restlessly, not trying to do anything more than annoy him. “Whyyy,” you whined, drawing out the word until it was nearly a wail. Unslaked heat burned in your blood and, while you knew why he was refusing to have sex with you, in the moment, you couldn’t understand why your oldest friend was torturing you.

Your oldest friend’s eyes roamed over you, taking in your reaction. At first he seemed surprised, but then a glint of something you’d never seen before sparked to life in the depths of his blue eyes. You watched his gaze drop to your mouth, and nearly whimpered at the way the corner of his lips flickered in the ghost of a smirk. But then he fixed his gaze back on yours, pinning you in place with that stubborn look in his eye, though it was slightly dimmed in favor of that new, hungry glimmer.

Your lungs dragged in a soundless gasp and you finally understood his reticence, even if you couldn’t imagine ever regretting doing anything with Steve. But when you opened your mouth to protest, Steve’s fingers squeezed the sides of your throat.

Your words died on your tongue, and your mouth went slack, your eyes going hazy with pleasure. You couldn’t have been more obvious that you liked the way Steve choked you if you tried. And he read your enjoyment easily from the expression on your face, that look of hunger sparking brighter in Steve’s eyes before he went on.

“When I fuck you again,” he growled, his words a promise. “I don’t want you drunk on anything but my cock.”

“Stevie,” you whined his nickname again, the name only you were allowed to call him, your lips forming into a pout. It hadn’t escaped your notice that he’d said ‘when’, and not ‘if’, about having sex with you again, but you didn’t want to push your luck. And besides, unslaked need was still burning brightly through your body, consuming most of your focus. “I need…something, please.” You let out a little whimper and squirmed in his lap again, unable to stop yourself.

Steve huffed a laugh, his thumb stroking down the side of your neck, over your thrumming pulsepoint, while the fingers of his other hand slipped half an inch into the waist of your shorts, only far enough to dig harder into your soft curves.

“I’m not going to touch you more than this, buttercup,” Steve began, his voice a low, delicious rumble that you swore you could feel in the clenching of your core. “But I didn’t say anything about stopping you from touching yourself.”

Your eyes widened in excitement, and you wasted no time in acting on the implication in Steve’s words. Holding his gaze, one of your hands slipped free from his shirt and trailed down your body. When you reached between your thighs, the backs of your fingers brushed against a thick bulge in the front of Steve’s jeans.

It twitched against your soft touch, and you gasped in delight, loving the proof that Steve’s body recognized you just as much as his mind.

But when you twisted your hand, intent on giving Steve’s bulge a friendly squeeze, his hand darted down from your hips to your wrist, his fingers circling around you and stilling your hand. “Buttercup,” he rumbled, another warning.

A shiver raced down your spine and you reveled in the way it made you feel to hear Steve say your nickname like that. It occurred to you that it was new—you’d never heard him say it quite like that before, with frustration and arousal flooding his tone.

But the look in Steve’s eyes was stubborn again, and you knew you’d have to wait to hear all the ways he could say your nickname.

“OK, Steve, ‘m sorry,” you mumbled, twisting your hand in his hold and pressing the tips of your fingers to the seam of your shorts, your hips jerking forward to seek more of the friction you offered yourself.

Steve’s hold loosened, but he didn’t let go of you entirely, like he didn’t trust you just yet. But you didn’t care, your fingers were pressing into your clit through the thin denim of your shorts, and you were rocking your hips to grind against them, your wetness soaking through your panties almost immediately.

The moment when your fingers found just the right spot, you sucked in a sharp breath, your spine arching and your hips pressing down hard against your hand. Your head tipped back, your eyes narrowing into slits as you held Steve’s gaze. You moaned while you rubbed tight circles against your clit through your shorts.

“I’m going to come embarrassingly fast,” you huffed in warning, your chest heaving already with labored breaths.

But Steve only smirked, a touch of smugness in the curve of his lips.

“Don’t worry, buttercup, I remember exactly how sensitive your sweet little clit is,” he rumbled, and you moaned loudly. His fingers flexed against your throat, digging in enough to quiet your sounds and making your eyes widen as your hips lurched in their rhythm. He chuckled at your reaction before continuing on.

“I remember sucking on your puffy little pearl, your thighs squeezing my head, my fingers buried deep in your tight, warm hole,” Steve purred, seemingly knowing exactly what to say to drive your pleasure higher. “I remember the exact way your pussy gripped my fingers when you came, like you wanted me deeper—deep enough that you could feel me in your belly.”

“God, Steve,” you groaned, your head falling back listlessly on your shoulders, too heavy to keep it up. But Steve’s fingers dug into the back of your neck, and you understood the wordless command immediately. You lifted your head and caught your oldest friend’s eye while you kept rubbing your clit, pushing yourself closer to coming apart in his lap.

“I remember how big your cock felt inside me,” you confessed, spurred on by Steve’s own filthy words. “I remember how long it took for you to sink your thick, fat cock into my tight pussy.” You paused only to take a quick, hitching breath. “I was already so close when you came, and I remember, I thought, maybe if you hadn’t been wearing a condom, maybe I would’ve come, too.”

The lines of Steve’s face shifted, hardening, his jaw ticking wildly and his eyes going molten fierce, like the blue at the center a campfire that burns too hot to sit near.

“Don’t fucking say that, buttercup,” Steve growled, his voice gravelly like he was chewing on seashells. “If I hadn’t been wearing a condom, I would’ve come so much faster—I never woulda made it all the way inside you. Woulda been coming with just my tip inside your warm, wet pussy, baby—woulda been too risky, buttercup.”

Your eyes wanted to fall closed as you moaned, but you didn’t let them. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Steve, not with that furious and ferocious hunger in his eyes, his desire for you etched into every single line and curve of his face.

You were so close. You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.

“Fuck, Steve, I know I shouldn’t, but I love the thought of you coming inside me, filling me up, making me yours,” you confessed, the words bubbling up from the very depths of your soul. It was on the tip of your tongue again, that thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself. Instead of letting it free, you moaned, long and loud, your fingers rubbing faster against your clit and your hips grinding against your hand.

“Christ, baby,” Steve gritted through tightly clenched teeth. His fingers were digging into your hip again, diving further beneath the waist of your shorts, nearly skimming the edge of your panties. His other hand tightened around your throat and dragged you into him, until your face was right in front of his and he could watch every twitch and change in your expression as you pleasured yourself.

“Come on, baby,” he said, his voice urgent with need. “Come before I do something we’ll both regret.”

The hand that wasn’t wedged between your thighs pressed to the center of Steve’s chest, just above his heart, and a moment later, you felt his warm palm cover it. He was still holding your throat, his fingers digging into the sides hard enough that you knew he could feel your fluttering pulse beneath his touch. And you could feel his heart pounding beneath your palm, the rapid pace nearly matching the frantic one in your chest.

“Come, buttercup, come for me,” Steve commanded, his eyes holding yours. For a moment, it felt like he could see straight into your soul. It was a scorching intimacy you hadn’t felt since that night you’d first been with Steve, and you were helpless to it.

“Stevie,” you cried his name as your pleasure rose up and consumed you, sending you over the edge into a earth-quaking orgasm. Your body writhed in Steve’s lap, your hips grinding gracelessly against your hand as you collapsed forward, leaning into the grip of his hand around your throat. You sobbed your pleasure, the waves of your release wracking your body for long moments.

Eventually, the final swell ebbed and the last of your energy receded with it. Your damp forehead fell against Steve’s cool, dry one and you struggled to catch your breath. His hand slipped from the front of your throat around to the back of your neck and he smoothed it down your spine.

He held you close, whispering in your ear, “Such a good girl, buttercup, you did so good.”

Once you finally settled, Steve shifted, his beard grazing your lips as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Can I take you home now?” he asked.

You huffed a laugh and slumped against his chest, laying your head sleepily on his shoulder. “I don’t think I can move yet,” you said, slurring your words with tiredness. And drunkenness.

Steve chuckled, but made no attempt to move you. You only felt him lifting his arms around you, though his hands didn’t settle on your body.

“If you see Sam while you’re back in town, don’t tell him I did this,” Steve murmured in your ear. Then you felt the truck rumbling to life and getting back onto the road and you realized where your oldest friend’s hands were. He was driving you home, with you still sitting boneless in his lap.

When Steve arrived at your rental house, not too long after, he helped you down from his truck and looped an arm around your waist, getting you into the bungalow. Thankfully, you were sated from your release in his truck so you didn’t try to proposition him again, just dutifully did as he said, changing into your pajamas in your bedroom while he waited outside the closed door.

Then he let you lean against his broad chest while you brushed your teeth and washed your face, before guiding you back to your room and tucking you into bed. Last, he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead that was so comforting, and made you feel so safe, your eyes fluttered closed and a soft smile curled your lips.

Before he could leave, your hand darted out and grabbed Steve’s wrist with surprising precision given your state and the fact that your eyes were closed. You dragged them open again, blinking away the bleariness until your childhood friend’s face came into focus.

For a long moment, Steve was quiet. He seemed to wait until you were just on the edge of sleep before responding to your drunken confession.

“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk, and I’ll believe you, buttercup,” Steve murmured, ducking down to press a kiss to your hand, still wrapped loosely around his wrist, before carefully extricating himself.

You were snoring before Steve closed and locked the front door of your bungalow behind him. He walked down the short path to his truck, which sat at the curb, a subtle smile on his lips and a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

#steve rogers #fan fiction #feedback #marvel #drag queen #animations #AND mine #divina de campo #trixie mattel #lala ri #baga chipz #vanessa vanjie mateo

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